The Secretary
by AcaciaDawn105
Summary: You all remember Anthea, right? The snobby b***h that followed Mycroft around and was always on her phone? Well, after the Irene Adler fiasco, she got fired, understandably so. Well, this is her replacement, and the thrilling adventure she goes on with the Holmes brothers and their blogger. Read, review, and enjoy! Rated M for safety, there will be some mature content later on.
1. Chapter 1

_**The Secretary**_

 _ **Chapter One~Meeting Mr. Holmes**_

 _Knock knock knock._ A young woman popped her head through the door. "Mr. Holmes?"

"Yes?" Mycroft Holmes answered distractedly, looking down at the file in his hands.

"Your last appointment is here. A...Mr. Watson?"

"Ah, yes. Thank you, Diane. Please, show him in."

Ducking her head, the woman hurried back into the foyer, her five inch heels alerting the man to her approach. Mr. Watson turned his sandy blond head towards her, having been inspecting the painting above the settee. "Mr. Holmes will see you know, sir. Please, follow me." Without waiting for an answer, she spun around and lead the way back to the office. "Straight through."

"Yes, thank you. I _have_ been here before." He stopped for a moment, taking in her appearance. They stared at each other, only breaking eye contact when Mycroft addressed her.

"Diane, some tea for our guest, if you would be so kind."

"Of course, sir. Excuse me."

When the door had shut, John took a few steps forward. "What happened to the other girl? Janine, was it?"

"Yes," Mycroft said in his usual drawn out way. "Well, after the incident with the Woman, she was...let go. Now, right down to business."

Diane made her way to the kitchen, occasionally looking at the phone in her hand. Her fiance had texted her hours ago, saying that they needed to talk when she got off work. And no matter how many times she texted him back, asking 'about what?' Or 'are you ok?" There was no answer. He was really starting to get worried about him. She had already set the kettle on the stove and was taking out Mycroft's favorite China set when her phone buzzed in her pocket, causing her to almost drop the tray. She pulled it out, seeing that it was from Jay.

 _I can't take it anymore-JD_

Confused, she quickly responded. _Can't take what, dear?-DS._ She spared a glance at the kettle, which wasn't even steaming yet. _BUZZ!_

 _I want you out of the apartment by the end of the week. I'm done with this charade that we're actually happy.-JD_

Diane gripped the counter, afraid her usually sturdy knees would fail her. What could he possibly mean? They were happy. They were getting married in four months, the plans had already been set, the invitations mailed out. He couldn't be serious. A million things ran through her mind. Maybe this had something with that girl from work that he always seemed to be hanging out with. Or maybe, his mates had finally convinced him that she wasn't worth the headache, considering all the time away from home she would have to take. Mycroft traveled a lot, and his secretary always went with him so he could keep on top of his day to day meetings and assignments.

 _You can't mean that, Jay! I'll be home in two hours, we can talk then.-DS_

There was no reply after that. Diane stood there waiting for it, only to have it buzz in her hand again, startling her. This time, she did drop a cup. It smashed against the carpet, breaking into pieces. "Shit." She muttered. That was his favorite cup...he'd know that she'd given him a different one. Mycroft Holmes was strange that way, he always knew when something was off. _The devil's in the details,_ he always said. Checking her phone, she was met with a message from her boss, not her fiance.

 _Where are you with the tea?-MH_

 _Sorry, sir. Made a bit of a mess, just cleaning it up now.-DS_

No answer, no problem. She continued cleaning up the China, before grabbing another cup and setting it on the tray. By then, the kettle was screaming for her to get it off the stove. She went about her business, pouring the hot water into the teapot over the tea leaves, placing the milk and sugar bowls just so beside each other. Despite only having done this for four months, Diane had gotten very used to weight of the tea tray. Everyone always said that Brits were obsessed with tea, but Mycroft Holmes set a new standard for that. It seemed like he needed a new pot of tea every hour, constantly sneering into his cup as he read over the multitude of papers that crossed his desk every day. The familiar feel of balancing the tray was comforting to her as she knocked on the door before pushing it open with her hip.

"So, sorry, gentlemen. Had a bit of a spill." She set the tray down on the edge of the desk so she was not standing right between them. Common courtesy and all that. She stirred the tea inside the pot to circulate the leaves. Placing a strainer in the cup, Diane poured the liquid. She turned to the guest. "Milk or sugar, sir?"

"Splash of milk, no sugar, please." She handed the cup to him, then began on her boss's. He had a bit of a sweet tooth, so he liked both milk and a good bit of sugar in his tea. Once they were situated, she stood back and waited to be dismissed.

"Thank you, Diane. Perfect as always. You may go now. If you don't mind, take these and file them." There was a large stack of files sitting there. She smiled and quietly took them, glad for the distraction. Leaving the men to their business, she said nothing.

A little over an hour later, Mr. Watson stepped out of the office to see her sitting straight backed at her desk, legs crossed at the ankle, with a file on her right side so she could copy the information, and a cup of coffee on the other, occasionally taking a sip. He watched her for a bit, she was so absorbed by her work that she didn't hear him come out. Or it might have been the headphones that she had in. John wondered for a moment what she was listened to as she worked. He noticed how the back of her shirt rode up a bit on her back, exposing the very edge of the ink that adorned it. With her hair up in its tight bun, he couldn't accurately tell what color her hair was, only that it was dark. Her glasses were perched on her face, right where she didn't have to look down her nose at the computer screen. She reached over, looking to make sure she didn't knock her cup over as she did, noticing his boots in the corner of her vision.

"Oh!" She pulled the earbuds out. "Mr. Watson. I trust everything went well?"

"Yes, very well. Thanks. So..." He watched as she tilted her head a bit, waiting for him to speak. "How long have you worked for Mycroft?"

"Little over four months. It'll be five in a week and a half. Um, how do you know Mr. Holmes?"

John chuckled. "Mr. Holmes? That's the first time I've ever heard anyone call him that. Er, I work with his brother, Sherlock. Yeah, we share a flat." He grasped his hands behind his back, standing as if at parade rest. "Have you ever met him?"

"Who? Sherlock?" She shook her head. "No, I've never had the pleasure." When the man in front of her scoffed, she smiled. "Yes, that's much the same reaction Mr. Holmes had when I told him that. Apparently he's quiet the character."

"You can say that again." Diane turned back to her computer, then jumped when her phone buzzed on the desk. He watched as her face fell from whatever the message held. "You alright?"

She cleared her throat. "Fine, thank you." He didn't have to be a Holmes brother to see know that she was blinking away tears. "Is there something you needed, Mr. Watson?"

"Right, yeah. Uh, Mycroft wanted to see you in his office." She stood up, jerking her shirt down and smoothing out any wrinkles in her skirt.

"If there's nothing else, sir, I'll let you show yourself out." Neither said anything else to one another as they moved past each other and went their separate ways. "You wanted to see me, sir?"

"Yes, come in. Please, sit." He waited for her to get comfortable, peering at her over steepled fingers. "What happened?"

"Sir?"

"In the four months you have worked for me, you have done an impeccable job. Considering that you came to us from the States, you are seemingly well versed in...well, everything. You have never once slipped. So. What. Happened?" She didn't answer, just looked down at her hands in her lap. Her boss sighed and stood up from behind his desk. "Diane. Do you like working for me?"

Her head shot up. "Of course. This is probably the best job I've ever had."

"So...what could have possibly happened in the kitchen to make you break my favorite cup?"

Diane chuckled. "I figured you would realize it wasn't the same one. I'm really sorry, Mr. Holmes. I...had a bit of a scare, dropped the cup. I'll replace it, please don't fire me." This was the very last thing she needed, to be fired for a cup.

"Fire you? No, dear girl. It's just a cup, granted I don't think you could _afford_ to replace it. That was an antique, a set that belonged to my grandmother. Not to worry. You are a very good worker, probably the best secretary I've ever had. At least you're not on your phone constantly. Anyway, what I'm interested in is the _scare_ you had that caused you to break something when you are normally so careful, even when startled." He was leaning against his desk, arms crossed.

"Nothing of any importance, sir. I...I got a disconcerting text message, that's all. Again, I apologize for the cup."

"Hmm...I see. Well, if you're all finished for the evening, you may go home." He turned away and moved to sit back down. She stood up.

"Thank you, sir. Goodnight." When she got back to her desk, she pulled her purse out of the bottom drawer. Tossing her phone and appointment book in, Diane stopped for a moment. She had dodged a bullet. Her predecessor to this job had been let go because of some sort of affiliation with someone who could have potentially brought down the British Government. The only reason she knew any of this was because she had seen the files. And Mycroft had basically threatened her, telling her that if she ever did anything of the sort, she'd suffer the same fate. In other words, she'd never be hired anywhere that had anything to do with the government ever again. How she had gotten this job, she still didn't really know. She just remembered sending out her resume to some random job agency, and the next week she got a call from a mysterious man asking her to come work for him.

All in all, it had been a _long_ day.


	2. Chapter 2

_**Chapter Two~Those Hurtful Words**_

It was late by the time Diane made it back to the flat her and Jay shared. She paid the cab driver as they pulled up, noting the light that was on in the living room window. He was home, apparently. The door was not locked when she turned the knob. That was a bit disconcerting. They always locked the door when they left the house, or when they got home for the night. Inside, there was no sign of Jay, but there was the strong smell of alcohol in the air. Upon turning the corner, she found the cause of the smell. A bottle had been smashed against the wall, glass lay twisted into the carpet fibers, liquid dripping down the wallpaper, staining the white to brown. Diane sighed, not really looking forward to cleaning that up. A thump sounded from behind her. Spinning around, she saw Jay righting the lamp he had knocked over.

"It's about damn time you showed up. You said two hours."

"I know, I'm sorry. I got caught up at work. Mr. Holmes had a late appointment."

Her fiance scoffed. "Yeah, I'm sure. You really think I'm stupid."

"Jay, what's going on? Why is there glass all over the floor?"

He shrugged. "I got mad."

"Yeah, I got that. Why did you throw a bottle at the wall?" Again, he just shrugged. "Ok, different question then. What was with the things you texted me earlier? What did you mean that you ' _can't do this anymore'_?"

"Just what I said. I'm done with this. I'm done wondering if I'm actually gonna have a wife, and not just some snobby, stuck-up _bitch_ that thinks she's better than me just 'cause she's got some big government job."

"Jay, what the hell?! Why would you even say that? What have I done that makes you think I'm a stuck-up bitch?"

"What _haven't_ you done? You're never home on time."

"Yeah, so? I work for a government official, I don't have a normal nine-to-five like you do at the bank."

"You're too good to clean the house!"

"How do you figure that? I'm not even here most of the time. And when I am, I'm always cleaning up after you."

"No, you don't. You don't even cook."

"Because I don't have time. By the time I get home, it's always late and you've already gotten take-out, or pizza. How is any of this even remotely tied to you saying you're done. Have your mates been at your ear again? Huh? Have they been telling you it's not worth it? Because one of the biggest things about getting married is dealing with other people telling you that you can do better."

"My _mates_ haven't said a word to me. What's the point of being with someone if you know you're never gonna see them because of their job. And don't even get me started on that tosser you work for. You won't let me even hardly touch you, and you're probably rolling around on some silk sheets with that pompous arsehole."

"Excuse me?" She asked, taken aback that he'd even insinuate such a thing. "Have you _met_ Mycroft Holmes? I'm not even sure he's attracted to _women_ , let alone me. He's my boss. I sit at a desk outside his office all day and do paperwork."

"What about that trip to Vienna last month?" Jay crossed his arms.

"Vien-Jay, really? That was a business trip. I was there to make sure he kept on his schedule and made it to all his appointments on time. I made sure his clothes were picked up from the dry-cleaner's and hung up for him to get ready in the morning. I'm not his _mistress_ , I'm his secretary. Most of the time, I didn't even see him, because he was either in a meeting, or at a gentlemen's club." On the table, Jay's phone dinged. Not that he registered it, he was in too much of a frenzy trying to put reason to madness. From where she was standing, Diane could see the face that appeared on the screen. It was a woman, pretty, blonde. She knew that face. It was Bonnie, a girl that worked in Jay's office. Diane moved around him, snatching up his phone. Before he could stop her, she opened the text. She stopped in her tracks and swallowed thickly.

 _Hey, baby. When r u gonna be over? Im all hot and bothered waiting for u. Got nice and clean, just for u! Dont tease me, Jay. Come and get it!_ Attached to the message was a picture. There was Bonnie, naked and wet, like she'd just gotten out of the bathtub. Her legs were wide open, exposing her hairless womanhood in all it's glory, blonde hair spilling over the pillow she laid on. She held the phone in one hand, the other stroking her hip bones, with come hither eyes beckoning the recipient to her.

Diane took a shaky breath. "What the hell is this?" She turned the phone around and showed him the picture. He started, as if just realizing what she held in her hand. Jay snached the device from her, stowing it in his pocket.

"Nothing. She probably just sent it to the wrong person."

"Don't play me for a fool, Jay. She used your name, she meant to send it to you. Now, why is _Bonnie Roland_ sending you nude pictures?"

"It's none of your damn business, woman."

"Not my business? Not. My. _Business?!_ We are supposed to be getting married in less than four months. How do you figure that _this,_ " she gestured to his pocket, "is not my business."

"Will you just drop it? It's not a big deal, and it's not your business."

"We're engaged, Jay! Doesn't that mean anything to you?!" Diane had taken a step forward, grasping his hand.

Suddenly, the man she had fallen in love with was gone. He grabbed her wrist, hauled back and punched her across the face. "I _said_ , it's none of your business." He spat at her as she struggled to get up from her spot on the floor. When he had hit her, she had tripped over her heels and fallen against that end table. "You shouldn't be snooping through my personal things."

"You're person-" She pulled herself up, looking him dead in the eye. "We are supposed to be a couple. Couples share things. I let you see my phone, let you see every message I get, let you know who's calling me. _I_ have nothing to hide in this relationship, you sorry sack of shit." Once again, she was on the floor. This time, the punch had landed on her cheek, close to her eye, instead of on her chin like the last one. Jay grabbed her right arm, hauling her up.

"You're calling me a sack of shit? What about you, eh, highness? It ain't natural for a woman to share a bed with her intended and not get a little intimate."

"Get the hell off me!" She tried to yank her arm away, but he held fast. "You wanted me out? _Fine_! I'll get out. That way you and miss slut can have the place all to yourselves. Tell me this? Did you ever do her in our bed? Huh? Did you ever take her on the kitchen table like the _bitch_ she is?" She knew she was provoking him, but it didn't matter to her at that moment. She was hurt. And when Diane Smith was hurt, she lashed out with a razor sharp tongue that had left many a man shaking in his boots. But, with so much liquid courage in his blood, Jay wasn't even fazed.

" _Yes_ ," he hissed, pulling her close. "I fucked her so hard she screamed. We've done it all over this flat. The bed, the table, even the shower. And you know what?"

"Eh? What? She's probably a better lay than me?"

"Oh, I'm sure she is."

"Well, then." She brought her knee up, catching him in the offending appendage. Jay released her arm, doubling over in pain. "I guess now you'll never know." As she turned around to go to the bedroom, she could hear him vomiting on the carpet. Diane grabbed her suitcase from the top of the closet, throwing a week's worth of undergarments, work pants and shirts, toiletries, make-up, shoes, and some personal items into it. Reaching back in the closet, she pulled out a few dresses and skirts. Fitting everything carefully, she zipped up the case and rolled it behind her, back into the living room. Jay laid there in a puddle of his own sick, holding his family jewels in his fists. "Have fun cleaning that up." She moved past him and picked up her purse from where she had left it at the door. "Oh, and I'll be sure to tell Bonnie to keep you away from the drink." Diane stopped long enough to work her engagement ring off her finger, then tossed it next to Jay on the floor. "I'll be by to get the rest of my things once I find a new flat."

Diane hailed a cab a few blocks away. When she got in, she gave the cabbie the address of the only place she could go.


	3. Chapter 3

_**Chapter 3~Wake-Up Call.**_

Mycroft Holmes was not, what some people would call, a morning person. In fact, he hated mornings. But, he had been having trouble sleeping lately, and just decided to come in to work a bit early. So early in fact, that when he walked into the room before his office, he was surprised to see someone sleeping on the settee. Upon closer inspection, he realized it was Diane. Well, this was a puzzle, wasn't it. Never had he ever found her huddled up on the sofa that adorned the outer office. In fact, despite that fact that she came in before him, he had never seen her any less than perfect. Make-up done, clothes ironed, and every hair in place. Kneeling down beside the sleeping woman, he gently shook her shoulder. As she woke up, Diane looked around groggily, as if confused as to where she was. When her eyes came to rest on him, she sat up so quickly, she gave herself a head rush.

"Mr. Holmes. I'm sorry. I meant to be up before now, I..." she looked out the window, noting that the sun hadn't even risen fully. "You're here early. I'm so sorry, please, don't be mad. I just needed a place to stay for the night-" Diane was stopped by the Iceman taking hold of her chin and forcing her to stop moving and look him in the eye.

"Good Lord in heaven. What happened to you?" Mycroft turned her face this way and that, examine the damage done. He let go of her face, only to take her hand and bring it up to the light. "Who did this to you?"

She pulled away from him. "It's nothing, sir. A misunderstanding, that's all. I'm fine."

Her boss sat down next to her on the settee. "Obviously not, considering that you're sleeping in your office with fresh bruises. You know you can't lie to me. Now, tell me what happened." Diane hesitated, there was no reason to get him involved with this personal matter, and she started to tell him so, but he stopped her with a pointed look, his face very much that of a concerned parent. This was new to her. She'd never seen him worry about anyone that wasn't himself, the government, or his brother that she'd never met. Without much choice, she went ahead and told him the happenings of the previous night. Mycroft listened without much interruption, occasionally nodding or adding an interested _hmm_ here and there. At the end of it, both were silent for a moment. "So, what are you going to do?"

She looked at him quizzically "Sir?"

"Well, I imagine it can't be too hard for a young woman of your station to fine a place?"

Diane scoffed. "I can't afford a flat anywhere in London by myself, even with my salary, I'd be in the hole before long. London is pretty expensive, even at the cheapest places."

"I see." He seemed thoughtful. After a bit, he stood up. "Well, we have work to do. Go get yourself cleaned up." He was about to walk into his office, but stopped and turned back to her. "And put on some tea, if you don't mind."

The next day, Diane had already made ample use of the shower area in the building. Her hair and make-up was done perfectly as normal, her clothing had managed not to get wrinkled while sitting in her luggage case. Of course, there's only so much that makeup can do to cover such large bruises, so she kept her hair down over the side of her face. Luckily for her, not many people had come through the office that paid her any attention. Mycroft had been on the phone all afternoon, presumably about something of national security level importance, so she didn't ask questions. This was their normal day. Tea, files, appointments, scheduling more appointments, and just generally taking care of the British Government in the most mundane of ways. With her bag stowed safely away in the closet, Diane was able to get a good bit of work done that day. As per usual, she had one headphone in as she worked. When she had first started, she had made a point of asking Mycroft if that would be ok, since she was not one for simply sitting in one spot for hours on end with no noise or anything. He had told her that as long as she can still hear her intercom when he needed her to do something, he didn't care that she listened to music, in fact, he encouraged it. She was almost done typing up one of the most recent files that Mycroft had finished with and given to her for filing. Her phone had just changed to Paramore's When It Rains, when it dinged in her ear. Pulling it out, she saw that it was a call from Jay. She rolled her eyes and pressed the answer button, sincerely dreading having any interaction with him.

"Yes?"

"What the hell did you do, you bitch?" Jay was whispering, but he sounded thoroughly pissed.

"I haven't done anything. What's going on?"

"The police just showed up to my office and arrested me! They said I'm being charged with assault and battery! What did you do?! Who the hell did you talk to?" It was at that moment that Mycroft decided to step out of his office, not that Diane noticed. She was far too preoccupied with her ex-fiance's news.

"I didn't talk to anyone. I've been at work for the last two days, haven't even left to go to the store."

"Well, you must have talked to _someone_!"

"I'm telling you, Jay. I didn't call the police on you. I don't need the hassle of taking you to court, I just want you out of my life as quickly as possible. I'm at work, so I have to go. Do me a favor and don't ever call me again." She hung up the phone and sighed as she turned around. That was when she realized Mycroft was standing right next to her desk. "Jesus Christ!"

"No, just me." He said pleasantly. "Your ex-fiance, I assume."

"Uh, yeah. Apparently someone called the cops on him. He's been arrested and charged with..." Diane trailed off looking up from her phone. "Hang on...Sir. You didn't."

"Oh, of course I did. Can't have a man like that running around London, now can we?"

"Sir, he was drunk, and I egged him on. He didn't even hit me that hard."

"Your face says otherwise, my dear. Come, we have an engagement."

Confused, Diane pulled her planner out of her purse. "I don't have anything down in the appointment book."

"Oh, no, I made this one a few hours ago. Call the garage and tell them to have a car waiting at the front entrance." Pulling out her phone again, she pressed the number 2 on speed dial. Giving her ID, she relayed the information that her boss had given her. After hanging up, they walked at a rather relaxed pace down the halls. This was a bit strange to her, since she always moved as fast as she could to get things done for work. They were at the front doors in a matter of moments.

"I've never been through here." She commented.

"Really? Then how do you get in for work?"

"I usually go through the side gate. It's a shorter distance from the office. This is more for impressing guests and such." Mycroft said nothing as the valet opened the door for them. He slid in first, letting her follow and settle. It was a bit of a long ride, going from the government official's building into the city.

Diane didn't really know what she was expecting when they stopped, but this certainly wasn't it. They parked in front of sandwich shop called Speedy's. The door was opened, and Mycroft held out his hand for her to take. "I don't understand. Are we meeting someone for dinner?"

Mycroft looked around, as if noticing the shop for the first time. "No." He said simply, his eyes moving farther up. She looked up. Standing in the window one floor up, was a figure, casting a shadow so she couldn't see them very well. Her eyes darted back down, only to find her employer already at the door, ringing the bell. She hurried to follow after him. It was a moment before they heard anything behind the door. It sounded like shouting. The door was yanked open, revealing an older lady in a purple dress.

"Oh, Mycroft. Wonderful to see you again, dear. Please come in. Would you like some tea?"

"Hello, Mrs. Hudson. I wouldn't mind a cup. Diane?"

"Sir?" She stepped out from behind the tall man.

"This is Mrs. Hudson. Mrs. Hudson, this is Diane, my secretary."

"Oh, of course! Mycroft speaks very highly of you, dear. Would you care for a cuppa?"

"Yes, thank you. Do you need any help?"

"Oh, not really, but you're welcome to come on in anyway. Mycroft, Sherlock is upstairs, you can go right up."

They parted ways with a look. She found it very odd, that this woman that she had never even heard of before seemed to know about her. The idea that Mycroft Holmes spoke highly of anyone was a bit of a foreign concept to her. The man simply didn't seem to like anyone. "So, Mrs. Hudson, was it?"

"Yes, dear."

"What exactly did Mr. Holmes say about me? He's not exactly one to give good praise very often."

"Well, I s'pose that's just those two then, isn't it? The pair of them, shutting out the world like it could hurt them." Diane just nodded along, not really understanding what the older woman was talking about. "Mycroft called me yesterday, wondering if I still had my basement flat available. Of course, I told him I did. Not that anyone would want it. It's the damp, ruins everything. But, then, that's the thing about basement's, isn't it? Anyway, then he inquired about the upstairs flat, since John moved out to live with Mary, and he moved all his things out."

"Why would Mr. Holmes need a flat? He's got a nice estate near the outskirts of London."

"See, now that's what I asked him. And _he_ said, it was for a friend. Granted, I'm not really sure the Mycroft has many friends, but then, I don't know him very well, do I? Oh, you were wondering why he mentioned you, that's right. Well, he said you'd had a bit of trouble, lover's spat. Don't worry, dear, I understand. My husband was part of a drug ring back in the day, we had quite a few of those types of arguments. He said something had happened and that you had been sleeping on the sofa in the office. Well, of course, I said 'that won't do, not at all'. So, we got to talking, and I'm pretty sure, Sherlock is looking for a new flatmate. Not that you would be living with him, nothing like that. You'd be in the room above his, but you'd have to share bathroom. Oh, dear, that might be a bit awkward. But, I'm sure you'll work it out somehow."

"Wait, wait, wait. What are you talking about? What do you mean awkward?"

Mrs. Hudson stopped with the teapot in her hand. "I though...I was sure...Mycroft hasn't said anything to you about this?"

"No, obviously not!" Diane didn't mean to sound so harsh, but she was so confused, and it had been a _really_ long week.

"Oh, dear. Well, he's your boss, so you'd better go talk to him about all this. Here, tea is all done, you can just take it up on your way. Go on, off you pop. I'll be along in a moment." The woman waved a dishrag at her, gesturing out into the hall and up the stairs. As she stood at the base of the stairs, Diane could hear multiple voices, it sounded as if they were arguing. She made her way up, carefully balancing the tray. The door was still open a crack, light spilling out from it. When she reached the landing, the floor creaked beneath her, causing the voices inside to go quiet. She hesitated.

"Diane, you might has well come inside. No point in haunting the threshold." Mycroft's voice called from within.

Taking a deep breath, she pushed the door open, revealing a very nice, roomy flat. There was a fire going in the hearth to ward of the early autumn chill. Three men were there. Mycroft said nothing, simply watched her. Next to the fireplace sat the man who had come in for the late appointment the day that she left Jay. He stood from his chair and moved to shake her hand.

"John Watson, I believe we met earlier this week." Then he got a look at the side of her face. "Oh, dear. Have you been to get that checked, you might have a broken cheekbone." He took the tray from her and set it on the end table beside his chair.

"Um, no. I haven't really had the chance. Been a bit busy. I'm Diane." She took in his short stature, sandy blonde hair, and eyes that seemed to be years older than he really was. Her eyes traveled across the room, drawn to the one person who had not acknowledged her yet. He had his back to her, but she could see that he was tall, like his brother. But, he was slimmer, wearing black trousers and a dark purple shirt. The other two seemed to be waiting for him, watching him for whatever move he might make. There was silence in the room. Finally he turned around, mop of black hair flopping just above (what she could see from her spot) crystal blue eyes. He seemed to be inspecting her, something she had long ago gotten used to while working for Mycroft. But, where Mycroft was cold and calculating, there was something different in the younger Holmes's face. A bit more human than his brother. At least, that was until he opened his mouth.

"Boring."

 **A/N: Well, how did I do. I really like writing romantic, involved stories...but I hate romantic cliches, if that makes any sense. This is happening shortly after Sherlock gets back from being"dead", but long enough that John isn't quite as mad as he used to be about it. I like to think that later season Sherlock is more...human than season one Sherlock. And for those of you who are wondering, I am from America, but I watch a lot of BBC. I make no claim to know anything about anything, only what I have seen and researched on the internet. And yes, my character is originally from England, but moved away as a young child, and had recently moved back, shortly before meeting her (now ex)fiance. Enjoy, please review. Next one up soon.**


	4. Chapter 4

_**Chapter Four~Mr. Holmes the Younger**_

 _He seemed to be inspecting her, something she had long ago gotten used to while working for Mycroft. But, where Mycroft was cold and calculating, there was something different in the younger Holmes's face. A bit more human than his brother. At least, that was until he opened his mouth._

 _"Boring."_

"Excuse me?" Diane crossed her arms, looking at the younger Holmes brother.

"Boring." He turned away from her to pick up the violin that sat on the desk, before sitting down in a chair opposite the one John had just been occupying.

"Sherlock." John said in warning. "You could be a bit nicer. Not everyone is as understanding as me and Mycroft."

"Oh, come on, John!" He whined. "Mediocre secretary job, abusive boyfriend-no, fiance. Just split up, rightly so, he's been shagging a girl from his office. American, but somehow still knowledgeable of English customs. You've been sleeping on a sofa for the last two days, going by the kink in your neck. Makeup is done up, but not the way you'd normally do it." Sherlock stood up from his seat, placing the instrument down. He began circling her. "You're fluent in at least two foreign languages, but the other few you know, you can get by. You're looking for a flat, but can't afford to get one, hence why you're here. You type a lot, probably for work, but you like to write. You've been starving yourself, presumably to fit into the wedding dress that's been hanging in your closet, not that you'll have a chance to wear it now. Low self-esteem, yet you have the confidence to work in a high profile government job. That's a bit of an enigma in itself. You like to read, but haven't had the chance for a while." He stopped right behind her. The hairs on the back of her neck prickled as he leaned closer to her. The deep inhale through his nose startled her and she swung around, throwing out her fist, which nearly missed him. As her arm moved past his face, he grabbed it. "You've taken self-defense classes, but haven't practiced in a while. There's a distinct smell of jasmine in your hair, incense. You like to burn several different kinds, but this is your favorite."

Diane struggled to pull her arm back, but he held firm. It didn't hurt, but it was a bit off-putting. "Please, let go." Sherlock narrowed his eyes at her, but didn't let go. "Did you tell him about me?" She asked her boss.

"Not a word." He responded.

Raising her arm to eye-level, he pulled up her sleeve. To her right, John let out a sharp breath. "Good lord." The blonde man whispered. "Have you been to the police?"

Mycroft cleared his throat, apparently done with his brother's power play. "She hasn't, but I've already been in contact with them. He's in lock-up as we speak. At the very least, he'll get a few days in prison and be slapped with a restraining order. At worst, he'll get minimum of a year."

Sherlock held Diane's gaze for a moment, then dropped her arm without breaking eye contact. "Good. I suppose you're waiting until you find a place to get your effects from your previous flat."

"Yes. How did you know all that?"

Both of the younger men seemed surprised. "Hasn't Mycroft done this little _trick_ on you?" Sherlock spat the word out like it was poisonous.

"Of course, not. Really, Sherlock. She's my employee, not a plaything."

"Really? Hmm, I would have assumed you had deduced her until she became immune. Much like Janine."

"Mr. Holmes!" Diane drew the attention of every man back to her. "How did you know all those things?" Off to the side, the other man gave an exasperated sigh and whispered, "Here we go."

Sherlock straightened up. He took a deep breath, then letting it out all at once. "You're here with Mycroft, but you're obviously not his girlfriend, so employee. The fact that Janine hasn't been around for a while, he'd need a new girl to keep him in line."

"Very funny, little brother."

He didn't stop to respond to his brother's quip. "The abuse is plain to see on your face, and the fact that you are trying to hide your arm behind you. _'Why finace?'_ You ask? You've got a tan line on your left ring finger, barely noticeable to anyone who isn't looking for it. I know he's been cheating on you because of the place on your makeup that has a tear track in it. Besides, why else would you break it off. You've just recently moved here from America, judging by your accent, southern states. You've got just a hint of English, meaning you've been here just long enough that you've picked it up. You work for Mycroft, which means that you must have some sense of propriety, you know how to serve tea, walk, talk, and appear to be a lady. You've been sleeping on the sofa in your office judging by the way you've been working out the kink in your neck ever since you got here. You don't usually do your makeup so heavily, but you had to for work because of those marks. You'd have to be fluent in at _least_ two languages to work for my brother. Your native language, and probably Spanish. You can get by with the easiest of languages, with just enough knowledge of others to help Mycroft." He took a quick breath.

"And the fact that I'm here for a flat? I haven't had any time to look for one."

"Well, why else would you be here? Mycroft never brings his secretary into the flat, they always wait outside. He obviously thinks very highly of you, helping you out of the car like that. As for the bit about typing, well you're a secretary, so of course you type a lot. But, you've got a very distinct callous on your right middle finger, where you've been holding the pen when you write. You've lost a lot of weight, but then you were getting married, so you were probably trying to make yourself fit into a dress that was two-no, three sizes too small for you normally, maybe at the insistence of your fiance. You're cheeks are hollowed, and these clothes," he picked at her sleeve. "They're at least six months old, and they hang a bit too big on you. So, they fit when you bought them, but you've lost weight. You crossed you arms defensively when I started talking, showing that you don't particularly think very highly of yourself. And, yet, you've got an air of confidence about you. Almost as if you're trying to intimidate anyone who meets you. You do it on purpose. If you look like you think highly of yourself, others will, too. You took a self-defense class, judging by the way you reacted when I smelled your hair, so you don't trust someone you don't know and can't keep your eyes on. _'How did you know I haven't practiced?_ ' That bit was very easy. You missed, and you were a bit slow on the draw. If you had kept up with the exercises, you would have hit me straight on, without having to see where I was. As for the incense. Well, the scent doesn't have that alcohol smell that is associated with perfume. Beside that, you don't really seem the kind of woman to purposely wear a heavy scent. Plus, it has a hint of smoke to it, so, incense it is."

All was silent for a moment. The men (and Mrs. Hudson, who had been standing in the door since Diane tried to punch him) were watching her. She saw nothing but those startling blue eyes with hints of gold in the center. The tension was so thick, one could have cut it with a knife. Everyone held their breath. It was only broken when Diane inhaled. "What about the reading?"

His lips curled up into a rye grin. "That part was just a hunch."

"Diane, I am so sorry." John stepped between them. "He's always like this. I do apologize for his behavior."

"Was I right?" Sherlock asked over his friend's head. When she only raised an eyebrow at him. "Oh, come one, there's always something." His head tilted slightly to the side, taking her in. "So, what did I get wrong?"

Diane gave a small smile. "Jay, my fiance? He wasn't abusive."

Eyebrows were raised. "Of course he was, you wouldn't have those bruises if he-"

"You misunderstand, Sir. Jay had never hit me before. We were fighting, he had been drinking. Then I found out that he had been sleeping with Bonnie, I lashed out. I do that sometimes, when I'm upset. It made him mad. He punched me...then again, I suppose I should have shut up after the first one, but...I couldn't stop."

"Even so, my dear," Mycroft interviened. "The fact that he attacked you at all, he abused you. He will be tried, and he be found guilty."

"I don't care. He's not my problem anymore."

"Or, at least he will be after you get all of your things out of his apartment." Sherlock went back to his seat and plucked at the violin strings.

"Indeed. Mr. Holmes, why are am I here, exactly?"

"To rent out a flat, obviously. If you two are agreeable, I'm sure we can work something out. You know, get someone to get your things out of your ex-fiance's place, get you moved in, and all sorted out. Sherlock?"

"Hmm?" Was the dark haired man's response.

"What do you think?"

"About what?" He didn't even look at them.

Mycroft scoffed at him. "Don't be childish. What do you think about Miss Smith moving into Baker Street?"

Shrugging, Sherlock turned those turquoise eyes on her. "How do you feel about the violin?"

Keeping her eyes level with his, she smirked. "How do you feel about the bass clarinet?" Came her retort.

The detective smiled at her again. Oh, this was getting interesting. "Sometimes I go days without talking, would that bother you?"

"Would it bother you that I would talk to you even though I know you're not paying attention?"

"I have a tendency to keep body parts in the fridge for experiments, even left some eyeballs in the microwave once."

"I have a tendency to leave my books in random places around my house because I get finished reading and forget to put them up."

"I'm an sociopathic ego maniac with a cold heart, or so I've been told."

"I'm an over emotional woman who doesn't like to share her feelings. What's your point?"

"You work for my brother."

"You work for my boss."

Sherlock stood again. It took only two steps of his long legs and he was standing almost chest to chest with her. ( **More like chest to stomach, but whatever** ) He was a good six inches taller than her, so he towered over her. Everyone else in the room stood in silence, watching the interaction between the two. Diane had to tilt her head back to be able to see him. "Are you keen on staying here?"

Diane shrugged. "I've got nowhere else to go, and this seems like a very nice place. Mrs. Hudson? What's the rent on this place?"

"Oh, well, depends on what you can do? Generally I charge about two-hundred and fifty a month, but I'm sure we can work something out."

"Alright, then. If it's alright with you then, Mr. Holmes, I'll just wait until this weekend to get my stuff moved in."

"No need, Diane. I've already got people ready to go to your old apartment tomorrow to help you pack your things. You can take the day off to direct them."

"Sir, you don't have to do that for me. I can pack my own things, thank you very much."

"Yes, but this way, it's done and out of the way before Jay gets out of lock-up."

She stopped, looked down at the rug beneath her. "I suppose so."

"Good," Mycroft clapped his hands together. "It's all settled then. Shall we make the arrangements, then?"


	5. Chapter 5

_**Chapter Five~Moving Day**_

 **A/N: Ok, so I realized that Janine was not Mycroft's secretary, her name was Anthea. So, for the sake of not having to go back and fix it, I'm just going to start referring to her as Anthea from now on, and Janine comes in later, so yeah. Also, yes, Sherlock came back quite a while before all this, and yes, Anthea was there when he came back, but she was fired shortly after because of her affiliation with Irene Adler (and because she's a bad secretary, lol). Well, on with the show!**

She had ended up going back to the apartment that night to try to figure out what was going with her and what would be staying. Legally, since they had bought much of the decorations together, but she had been the victim, she was able to take basically whatever she wanted. She stayed up late in the night, trying to make a list of things she could take with her. She was at a loss, trying to think of what the flat needed. As if knowing her thoughts, Mycroft texted her and told her that he thought Sherlock's home could do with a woman's touch and to bring whatever she wanted. After making her list, she went to her bedroom and started packing her clothes and other personal products into boxes. To be honest, most of the grooming products that cluttered up the bathroom counter were Jay's, not hers. All of _her_ books were packed up, _her_ dishes that she had gotten from her mother, _her_ wall hangings. Diane would leave the heavy boxes and furniture for the moving crew to haul. It was late when she finally laid down on a pallet of her blankets on the floor. She hadn't been able to even look at the bed or the couch after knowing what he'd done.

To his credit, Mycroft was always true to his word. 9 o'clock the next morning, there was a knock on the door. Upon opening, Diane was greeted with the sight of three rather burly men on her front step. With a gracious smile, she beckoned them in, and offered them coffee before they got started. All the boxes had been expertly taped and labeled in big black marker, telling her, generally, what was in the box and where it should go. While the men loaded the truck, she ran around the flat, making sure she hadn't left anything, even going so far as to check Jay's drawers to make sure nothing of hers was hiding there. They were almost done when Jay happened to stumble in through the door. The movers paid him no mind, it wasn't the first time they had helped one partner or another move out of a shared living space after a break up.

"What's going on here?" He huffed.

Without looking at him, Diane spoke over her shoulder. "I told you I would be back for my stuff when I got a place. Well, I've got a place, and now I'm getting my things out of your way."

"You can't just take all of this stuff!" Jay's arms swung wide, nearly hitting one of the movers as he gestured. "Some of this is mine."

"No, Jay, it's not. Most of the things in this flat...we paid for them with money _I_ saved up. You don't even read much, so all of those books are mine. I bought all those movies and CDs, and you might as well take down those pictures we took together. I'm leaving the table, the bed, the sofa, most of the appliances, so you should be able to get by rather well. At least you won't have completely bare flat for when Bonnie comes to visit. That is, if your lawyer manages to keep you out of jail." She was just passing by him with a box of books when he grabbed her arm and yanked her back. "Let go of me."

Jay was suddenly ripped away from her and pushed against the wall. "Mr. Holmes would like us to remind you that you are not to lay another hand on Miss Smith." The movers seemed to have appeared out of nowhere, one of them had Jay held in place with his arm placed across his chest. The others had placed themselves between the two.

"Who the hell are you? Get off me! This is my house, you have no right to be here!"

"Actually, sir, this flat is in Miss Smith's name, therefore, it's not your's. Once she moves out, if you are not in prison, you'll be allowed to change the name on the lease, baring Miss Smith doesn't want to continue living here. Now, if you'll be so kind as to leave the premises until our work here is done." Without so much as a second look, the lead mover pushed him towards the door and they all went on continuing what they were hired to do. Not without keeping themselves between the two.

"This isn't over, Diane." Jay said with a finger pointed at her.

"Oh, I quite think it is, Mr. Doran." Both of them spun to the door where Mycroft stood leaning against his umbrella. "Diane, what say you about the flat? I know you're staying at Baker Street for now, however, are you going to be wanting to come back after all the legal issues are settled?"

Diane turned to Jay. When they had first met, she had thought that he was the nicest guy. They had met through one of her friends. Bonnie, oddly enough, was the one who introduced them. She and Bonnie had met at the same employment service, and became good friends. Apparently not good enough friends, seeing as she had been sleeping with her fiance...ex-fiance. His chocolatey brown eyes had drawn her in, the lopsided smile he flashed her won her over. That night, they had talked for hours in the pub, telling each other everything about themselves. But this? She couldn't have seen this coming in a million years. She looked around the home they had shared, where they had been planning on staying for a long time, or at least until they decided to start a family. Now, there would be none of that. No wedding, no happiness, and no children. She shook her head, looking her boss in the eye, "I don't think I could stomach another moment in this place. Besides, Baker Street is cheaper."

"Very good. Gentlemen, I assume you are almost finished?"

"Last few boxes are being packed up now, sir. We've already gotten all of the furniture in the truck and we should be done within half and hour."

"Excellent. Diane, are you finished here?"

"I suppose so, sir." She answered.

"Come with me then. Is there anything you are going to need?"

"Just a bed and dresser set. I was going to go tomorrow, after I got everything else unpacked."

"No need. Come along."

Diane was starting to get worried. Mycroft was walking beside her as she walked through the doors to And So To Bed Ltd. It was an upscale furniture store on Baker Street. The way he sauntered in, she knew he was perfectly at home in a nice place like this. This wasn't some place she could afford, and she had told him so. The older man had simply laughed and led her inside. They moved along, Diane automatically strayed towards the cheaper items, bed frames with little to no ornamentation, mattresses that had no memory foam or pillow tops. Apparently, Mycroft had seen her stop and admire a bedroom set of dark stained cherry wood, because he immediately called over an employee and told them to have it delivered to Baker Street, along with the rather puffy mattress that sat atop it. Of course, he did all of this behind her back, telling the sales associate to bill it on his card, which he slipped into the young man's hand while Diane had moved on to look at a rather bland looking bed with a steel frame. When she asked the man about the price, he gave her a knowing smile that made her cringe. She asked him to send it and the hard, lumpy mattress over so she could put it together, and handed him her card. Of course, Mycroft gave him a pointed look, to which the young man went to the counter, stood for a moment, pretending to finish up the transaction, then walked back and gave her the plastic.

From there, she went to the local market to pick out her new sheets. The pair of them patrolled the aisle, the secretary stuck between two different types. One was a cheery blue and white set that she thought might go well with simple bed she was getting, and a dark chocolate and cream colored set that were just gorgeous. Of course, Mycroft knew that if she got the cheaper, horridly beachy-style set, she would be forever stuck with the horrid choice of color clash, because she would never admit defeat and fight through the painful sight until she was forced to get another bed set. So, he simply pointed out that he thought the latter style suited her better.

"Besides, having any kind of blue around you when you are trying to sleep causes the melatonin production to halt, causing insomnia." To which, Diane shrugged and threw the better sheets in her basket.

"Do you know if your brother has done any shopping lately?"

"Knowing him, probably not. Come, let us refresh his malnourished pantry."

Oh, yes, she was starting to get scared.

By the time the car arrived at 221B Baker Street, Mycroft's men had already unloaded everything into the flat, piling things depending on what was labeled on the boxes. This left Sherlock very irritable. He wasn't used to sharing his space with anyone besides John. He watched the men trudge up and down the stairs, in and out of the flat, quite vexed when they started putting some of them in the kitchen, probably ruining all his experiments in the process. His only proved to irk him further when he heard footsteps on the stairs. The door opened and his brother entered without so much as a 'by your leave', followed closely by the woman who was to be his new flatmate. What was her name again? Darline? Dora? Something that started with a D, that's for sure. Other than that, he couldn't remember, not that he cared. Although, he supposed he really should try to learn her name, if they were to be sharing the same home. The woman went straight to the kitchen with what looked like a rather heavy looking load of plastic bags. The two of them chattered about nothing of any interest to him, so he tuned them out, deciding that if she were a talker, all he had to do was put her on semi-permanent mute like with Mrs. Hudson. Their talk was interrupted by another person knocking on the door.

"Pardon me, furniture delivery for a Miss Smith?" He was a timid looking man, his clothes were ill-fitting and wrinkled.

"Yes, that's me."

"Sign her, ma'am." She took the clipboard, and signed her name at the bottom without reading it, like most _normal_ people did. Boring. "Right, the blokes outside said they'd bring your things upstairs for you, and I'll just get out of your way."

"Thank you," she gave him a small smile, then went back to start putting her groceries away. She had opened the fridge only to reel back and double over with her hand over her face. From his spot next to the fireplace, Sherlock could hear her attempting not to vomit. That made him smile.

"Really, Sherlock, you couldn't be bothered to clean out your fridge for your new flatmate?"

"No, Mr. Holmes. I'm ok, I knew roughly what I was signing up for when we came over last night." Gently closing the door, she made her way back into the living room. "Do you have any particular attachment to that head you've got sitting in there?"

"Oh, that? Not really. You can go ahead and throw it out, along with the thumbs that have gone bad in the drawer."

Her eyes widened. "Right...where?"

"Beg your pardon?"

"Um...where do I throw it out at? I don't think my new landlady would be too appreciative if I threw rotting body parts in her bins."

"My men will see to it that they make it to a crematorium." Mycroft was checking his phone. The mover who had pushed Jay against the wall earlier popped in.

"Bed's all set up, boss."

"Ah, thank you, Jordan. Diane, if you would like to go get your things unpacked, I believe now would be a good time. I'm sure Sherlock wouldn't mind putting away the groceries. Perhaps domestic chores will do him some good." The younger brother scoffed and reached for his violin, and started angrily pulling the bow over the strings, causing it to screech rather than sing. This chased both of the intruders out the door, following them as they went their separate ways, one up the stairs, one down.

Of course, that was until the sound of yelling interrupted his little song. The woman's footsteps came pounding down the steps.

"MYCROFT HOLMES!" She hollered after the elder brother. This he had to see. All he had to do was stand at the top of the stairwell in order to see the normally docile woman tear his brother a new one. "Please tell me you did not switch my order out with _that_ one!" She threw her hand up, pointing up to where the offending piece sat.

"But of course." Mycroft said nonchalantly.

"Sir, I can't afford that. That's why I bought the other one."

"Who said _you_ bought it?" Was that a smile on his brother's face? No, surely not. There was no way that his brother, the Iceman, had any feelings towards the woman under his employment.

"You didn't..." Her eyes widened, fixing him with a death glare.

"Oh, _please_ , Diane, don't look so surprised."

"Don't look so sur- Sir, I can't let you do that."

"You were about to make a horrendous mistake with that vomit-inducing frame. Not to mention that if you got that mattress, you would have gotten even less sleep than you already do."

"Mr. Holmes, please, I can't let you just buy me things! You're my boss, it's not right for me to just-"

"Consider it an advance on your raise." At this, she stopped, her mouth open like a gaping fish. "Since you are now occupying the same living area as my _dear_ baby brother, I'm going to be upgrading your responsibilities for my office. One of those will be keeping an eye on him, keeping him out of too much trouble."

"Do us all a favor, Mycroft, and bugger off. I don't need a babysitter."

"Sir, I'm not qualified-"

"You most certainly are. You deal with me on a day-to-day basis, without so much as a single complaint. I'm not asking for you to spy on him or follow him around every second of every day, just try to keep up with him. Keep him out of the drug dens and generally out of harm's way. As I said, consider the furniture as an advance."

"What about my job?"

"Well, you'll still come in every morning, but you'll have more days away from the office, for which you will be able to accompany Sherlock on his daily adventures while Dr. Watson is unavailable."

Sherlock was none too happy with this arrangement, but he could see that she knew she was not getting out of this, not if she wanted to keep her job. So, she simply nodded, and made her way up the stairs. When she got to the landing, she almost ran into him, not having been really paying attention to him. Diane looked up at him, realizing that he was in her way, and he wasn't moving. They stood there for a moment, each one sizing up the other. After a moment, the tall man moved out of the way and dropped his eyes, letting her pass.

Well, this was going to be a shitty situation all around. She just knew it.


	6. Chapter 6

_**Chapter Six~ Breakfast**_

Saturday morning came far too soon for Diane. She was, in this very moment, greatly appreciating Mycroft's choice in furniture. The bed spacious, a queen size for one person, and the mattress lusciously thick. Her new sheets were silky over her skin as she turned. At least it was until she felt the material catching on the small, prickly hairs on her legs. Groaning, Diane stretched like a cat over her new bed. Her clock shone on the nightstand, **7:30** it told her in bright red numbers. It was far too early for her to be awake on a weekend. Oh, well, no point in sulking around in bed for a few hours. She had too much to do today to lay around, so she dragged herself out of bed and trudged over to her box of toiletries. Diane had decided that if things were going to be awkward with her and Sherlock sharing the bathroom, she figured she might as well get it over with. Five steps to cross her bedroom, eight to make it down to the landing. She didn't know if she should knock, as it was technically her flat now, but it seemed rude to just barge in. Raising her fist, Diane rapped her knuckles on the wood. There was no answer.

The door opened with no resistance. Peeking in, she saw that no one was in there, though given the time, she wasn't really surprised. Using this to her advantage, she snuck through the living room and into the bathroom. Once inside, she realized, much to her chagrin, that there was a lock on the door to the hallway, but not the one to what she assumed was her new flatmate's bedroom. Diane starred at the door for a hot minute, trying to figure out a way to keep him from bursting in while she was doing her business, as she had heard that he was prone to doing. A light bulb appeared, figuratively of course, over her head as she smiled wickedly. It took her only a few moments to run back up to her room and rummage through one of her boxes.

Diane was well pleased with her idea, deciding she would be safe from any prying eyes. It would have to do until he figured out how to knock, or until he just got tired of dealing with it and waited until she was done. So, turning on her phone to Pandora, and stepping under the faucet that was now billowing hot water and steam, Diane felt no need to worry.

" _Now I'm walkin' on sunshine, whoa-oh, I'm walkin' on sunshine, whoa-oh, I'm walkin' on sunshine, and don't it feel good!"_ Diane sang along with Katrina and the Waves. " _I feel alive, I feel the love that's really rare. I feel alive, I feel the love that's really rare. Don't it feel good?!"_ Her hair was soaped up, dark bubbles running down the drain without her noticing as she danced under the water. "Ow! Shit!" She scrunched her eyes shut and put her face under the spray, attempting to free her eyes of the soap that invaded and caused her to go temporarily blind. " _Shit!_ " When she had finally managed to get it out and finish up her shower, conditioning, shaving, all those _wonderful_ things women have to do, she automatically grabbed the towel off the rack and started drying off in the shower, as she had always done (growing up with boys who didn't know how to knock would do that...at least she was never caught naked).

If she hadn't had her music up so loud, she might have heard the rattle of the door as Sherlock tried to figure out why it wouldn't open. Was it stuck? Was there something jammed in the hinge? As early as it was, his brain wasn't quite firing on all cylinders. Wrapping himself in his dressing gown, he opened his door to try the other one. It was locked, which kept it shut even tighter than the other. Then he heard the music. It was appalling, whatever it was. Had John always played music while he got ready in the morning? Oh, wait...that wasn't John. John had moved out. It was...what's-her-name...Mycroft's lacky, the one with the bruised up face and a funny attitude. Knowing he would get nowhere with this particular door, he went back to the other. Pressing his face against the glass, he deduced that she had wedged something against the door, pushing it closed by fastening the other end to the locked door. He pushed again. Whatever it was, it was solid and wouldn't move without a bit of finagling. A smile cracked his face in two, one that would have scared most people, even John at times. Oh, this would be fun. Not that he had any desire to see her in the nude, he had no need for that, and even if he did, it wouldn't bother him as it would have his friend. Irene Adler was enough to attest to that.

So, he set about trying to knock the blockage out of the way. He was so absorbed by that, that he didn't notice the woman behind the frosted glass getting out of the tub. And nor did Diane notice the man attempting to exercise one of his oddities that he warned her about. She had already put on her underwear, and was bent over running her fluffy brown towel over her hair to dry it. She hated blow dryers. Yes, they worked in a pinch, made her hair fluffier than she could do on her own, but at the same time, her hair was so thick that it didn't even dry her hair very well. That and they dried out her face and scalp so badly. It was in this moment, that as she was thinking about hair dryers, that the pole she had wedged against the door clattered to the ground, hitting the back of her ankle, and the door swung open.

It took all of half a second for the infamous consulting detective to observe everything about the woman's body that had previously been hidden by her garments. Time slowed as she turned to see her offender. Her waist was smaller than her clothing led him to believe, and her hips wider. Her breasts were a bit on the larger size of average, probably a genetic disposition. Her legs were toned, but her thighs and backside had a bit more padding than he originally thought. She had broad shoulders for a woman, and was built a bit more solidly than most. On her lower back, to the right, was a tattoo. That surprised him. He didn't figure her one for ink. It was a blue flower, a stargazer lily, with some sort of strange script around it. As she turned, there was another on her left hip, a cluster of artwork. It looked like a crescent moon with some arrows, a semi-circle with a line, and on the side of her hip, some sort of Native American looking shape...hmm. He filed it away for later, just in case. Then he noticed her hair. Was it just him, or did it look a shade or two lighter? Time resumed.

"What the hell? How did you-"

"Oh, simple, really. Didn't take a genius to realize you'd stuck something against the door. Nor did it to figure out how to open it."

"But why?" By now, she had grabbed her towel and held it over her exposed skin.

"Needed the loo." He made to move past her, only to have her step in time with him and stop his progress. "What?" Sherlock examined her face, taking in the micro expressions that surfaced. "You've got a thing going on with your face. Might want to get that looked at." Her cheek jumped a little, the muscle twitching. Her glassy green eyes held him in her sights, his blue ones looked on in confusion. Suddenly, John's voice came back to him.

 _You have to remember, Sherlock. Women aren't like us blokes, first off. Secondly, they don't like men being around them if they're not properly dressed. And if they don't care, it's because they're trying to get in bed with you. Diane is probably the former. You can't just barge in on them like you do on me all the time. Oi, don't give me that look, barging in unannounced on a woman is not the same when you live with them, as opposed to a client or a suspect. Though you really shouldn't do that either. Anyway, give her space, don't do anything you would normally do with me here. Don't be...well, don't be you. At least for the first few weeks, give her some time to adjust._

"Oh..." He had basically just broken every rule John had set out for him.

"Yeah, _oh_. Can you at least wait until I've put my clothes on?" Sherlock said nothing, simply nodded and stepped back into his room. Diane closed the door gently, then quickly started pulling on her clothes. "I was going to make breakfast this morning, sort of a 'thanks for letting me stay here' thing." There came no answer, so she just continued talking, knowing that he probably wasn't listening. "Though, I'm not sure what kind of things you like." Still nothing. When she was done gathering all of her belongings, she knocked on the glass. "All done, if you still need it." Not a sound... "Right."

Diane was standing in the kitchen, trying to figure out what she could make for breakfast, when the door to the landing swung open and John strode in.

"Morning, Dr. Watson."

"Oh, morning...Diane, right."

"Yes, sir."

"Just John, is fine. So, where's Sherlock?" She must have had a strange look on her face, because he stopped. "What? What did he do?"

"Nothing." Diane shook her head, opening the fridge, glad that whatever body parts that were previously there were gone.

"No, it's not nothing. It's never nothing with Sherlock. What did he do?"

"Wasn't really his fault. I should have known that trying to lock him out of anything would make him want to get in even more." John gave her a pointed look. "I tried to barricade the bathroom door while I was in the shower. I thought he would stay asleep...it didn't go over too well." She shrugged.

"Let me guess...he managed to get it open while you were naked?"

"Don't be absurd, John." Sherlock breezed into the living room, plopping down in his chair, now dressed in his usual black slacks and dark shirt, this time blue. "Unlike most _normal_ people, I have no need to snoop on an unsuspecting lady while she is nude."

"Sherlock." John warned.

"Besides, that would be rude, and I am a gentleman."

" _Sherlock!"_

"Got the door open just after she got out of the shower. Luckily, she was in her underwear." John seemed to be fuming. "In my defense, you know I can't help myself around locked things." He drew out the last two words, turning his eyes to the woman who stood leaning against the kitchen door frame smirking at him.

"Sherlock, we talked about this. You can't just-why can't you...ugh. It's impossible. It's bloody impossible for you to follow simple directions." Diane placed her hand on the doctor's shoulder.

"It's alright, John. No harm done. I grew up with boys, should have known not to even try." Looking around him to her flatmate, she said, "Lesson learned, don't leave things locked up, and you'll leave them alone. Thanks."

"You've got brothers?" John asked.

" _Brothers_!" Sherlock hissed. "I knew I'd missed something."

"Oh, you missed quite a bit, Mr. Holmes. But, yes. Three of them. And we had cousins over all the time. We were a very large family." Diane chuckled. Then she noticed John's face. Confused, she turned around and ran smack-dab into the detective. She was still trying to get her balance when he grabbed her shoulders.

"What else did I miss?"

"Sherlock, I don't think-"

"What did I miss?!"

"That's for me to know, Mr. Holmes. And for you to, hopefully, never find out. Now, if you'll excuse me, what would you like for breakfast?"

"What?"

"You heard me." Sherlock glared at her, letting go of her shoulders and spun on his heel.

"Um, if it's not any trouble, I like just about anything you'd put in front of me."

"He's right," Everyone turned to see a new face enter the flat. She had a wide grin and short blonde hair that bordered on white. "My cooking's horrible, and he still likes it." The new woman put whatever she was carrying down on the table, reaching over to kiss John's cheek.

"Now, now, you know that's not true. Not in the slightest." By the look in her new-found friend's eyes, Diane could only guess that this was the 'Mary' that Mrs. Hudson had been talking about.

"Oh, you." She lightly tapped his arm. Noticing Diane, she turned her brilliant grin on her. "Hello. Mary Morstan. You must be Diane."

"Yes, hi. I remember hearing something about a fiancee. Lovely to meet you."

"Ugh, yes, lovely, wonderful, _brilliant_!" Sherlock shouted from next to the window. "Greetings and all that, boring!"

"You hush." Mary pointed a finger at him. "Just because you know everything about everyone, doesn't mean the rest of us wouldn't like to meet each other and learn. Now, help John figure out what the groomsmen are going to be wearing. You've got the choice between sage green, lilac, and cream. Go!" Like a child who had just been chastised, Sherlock went and plopped down in one of the chairs at the living room table, pouting.

John leaned in to whisper in Mary's ear, though Diane could still hear him. "I don't know how you do that, and quite frankly, I don't care. It's just a tiny bit sexy." This caused her to choke on the coffee she had been taking a sip of. Both of them spun around to see what was wrong, only to have her wave at them that she was fine as she coughed up the liquid.

"Wrong pipe," she croaked. Once the boys were situated at the table, Diane went about gathering up everything for breakfast. Mary sidled up to her, leaning over her shoulder to inspect it.

"Whatcha making?"

Diane couldn't help but smile at her. "Dutch Baby."

"S'cuse me?" John piped from the living room.

"Where did you get access to a baby?" Sherlock asked.

"Never mind that, why would you be-"

"Not literal _baby_ , you dolts. It's a puff pastry. My mom just always called it a Dutch Baby...never really understood why." Shrugging, she went about mixing the ingredients together. "There's coffee in the pot, if you like."

"Oh, that's sweet, thank you. John? Coffee?"

"Please."

"None for me thanks, just tea." Sherlock didn't seem to realize that no one had been speaking to him, as per usual. Of course, Mrs. Hudson chose that moment to come up the stairs with a tray.

"Oh, Sherlock, not even a full day and you're already treating her like a maid. You should be a ashamed of yourself."

The man in question cocked his head to the side. "Mmmh, and yet I'm not. And I'm not treating her like anything. She just randomly started rummaging around the kitchen. How am I supposed to keep her from cooking or cleaning, or whatever it is that women do?" This remark earned him glares from everyone in the room.

"That was very rude, Sherlock. You know, Diane does have a job. As such, it isn't _her_ responsibility to clean up the messes _you_ make."

"Well said, Mrs. Hudson."

"Thank you, Mary, dear. Now, you get busy with whatever wedding business you're supposed to be doing, while us ladies have a bit of _civilized_ conversation." At that, she set the tray down, then took Mary by the arm and closed the kitchen's sliding doors. From behind them, both men could hear them giggling like schoolgirls.

"Civilized?" John scoffed. "What d'you suppose she meant by _that_?"

"Haven't the slightest idea, John."

"You know, Diane could potentially file for harassment. On account of the fact that you knew she wasn't decent when you barged in after she wedged it shut."

"But, she won't."

"And how could you possibly know that?"

"She told me."

"Really?"

"Really."

"She told you, with actual words, that she didn't mind you practically breaking down the door while she was undressed?"

"Of course not. But, she seemed oddly calm about the whole situation. It's my experience that women tend to be a bit more volatile when placed in that position."

"You don't say? And yet, you saw fit to do it anyway?"

"For science, John." At the look his friend gave him, Sherlock smiled, "I had to know how she would react. You don't mind it because you lived with me for, what, four years?"

"Yeah, and I know how you are. She doesn't. You know, she didn't even really know who you were when I met her in Mycroft's office the other day? Not even your name. She only knew that Mycroft had a brother, but not who he was. She knows nothing about you."

"If that woman can put up with my brother, I have no doubt she'll be fine." A look came over his face, as if struck by a sudden realization. "Oh...oh, yes. This should be very interesting."

John, who knew that look, pointed at the other man. "No, Sherlock. _No_. You are not doing some sort of crazy experiment on that poor woman, just to see how much of your rubbish she can deal with before she decides the extra paycheck isn't worth it. She's been through more than enough over the last week."

But, Sherlock wasn't even listening...he was already plotting the various scenarios that could potentially shock her. _Very interesting, indeed_.

 **A/N: Woot! Made it over 3000 words this chapter! I am on a roll. Y'all, I've kind of hit a writer's wall, so I apologize if this chapter is kind of just a bunch of drivle thrown in together. Send me a little love, read and review. Ta-ta.**


	7. Chapter 7

_**Chapter Seven~ First Case**_

 **A/N: Sorry for the delay in updates. I just started a new job and my son has been a bit of an attention hog lately. All in all it's been a long couple of weeks. Anyway, for some reason, in the last two weeks, it would seem that no one has any opinions about this story. Come on, y'all, I need some encouragement. Not to sound needy and desperate, but, please review!**

To say that the weekend was eventful would have been an understatement. John and Sherlock had opted to eat in the living room rather than interrupt the women's talk going on in the kitchen. Meanwhile, Diane was astounded to hear about all the misadventures of Sherlock Holmes and Dr. John Watson. She didn't have time for TV at home before, and, if she were honest, most of her internet browsing had very little to do with anything that could be deemed important. Mostly random videos of animals, trolling on Facebook to keep up with her family, and, of course, porn. Despite her ex-fiance's accusation that she refused to sleep with him until the wedding because she was a virgin, it was actually the opposite. In all honesty, she had sampled the delights of sex, and had been left wanting. When she and Jay had gotten together, she made him promise that if he really loved her, he would wait. This was more for her own protection than it was about any kind of religious reason, or self-made promise. Simply put, Diane had no desire to be someone else's toy.

But, that's a story for another time.

Right that moment, Mrs. Hudson was regailing her and Mary with the amazing tale of how Sherlock came home to find that she had been grabbed, dragged up the stairs, hit several times, and held at gunpoint until he made his way upstairs.

"And, I'll tell you, I didn't think either one of us were going to walk away from all this mess, but I had faith. Sherlock's a smart boy, and he does care, not that he's very good at showing it. Anyway, he managed to talk the American into sending his grunts downstairs and had them drive away. And when the man asked to search him for a gun, do you know what he said?"

"Oh, do tell us, Mrs. Hudson?" Mary encouraged.

"Yes, what did the great detective Sherlock say?" Diane joked.

"He said, "Oh, I insist." As if he were really unarmed."

"Well, was he? Unarmed, I mean?"

"Hmm...you know, I don't really know whether to say yes to that. You see, when that ghastly man went to check him, Sherlock sprayed him in the face with some cleaning spray!" This statement sent the younger women into another fit of giggles, which could be heard in the other room, much to the confusion of the men.

"You don't say!" Mary exclaimed.

"Yes, and when John got there, he had him take me back down to my flat so he could clean me up. Apparently, he bashed him up pretty bad. He even threw him out the window, right on my bins!" Another round of laughter. "What about you, Diane, dear? I heard you say something about having brothers?"

"Uh, yeah. Darron, Marcus, and Vincent. We used to joke around and call them the D.M.V. It was a running joke in the family."

"And where do you fit into that little joke?" Mary asked over the rim of her coffee cup.

"I don't. I was the only girl, the oldest of the four. So, I was kind of above that, I suppose. That didn't stop my brothers from teasing me mercilessly."

"Really? Why's that?" Mrs. Hudson sipped her tea. At this, Diane ducked her head in an attempt to hide the sudden rush of blood to her cheeks.

"Blushing is caused by the heart rate accelerating, which pushing blood to the face." At the sound of his voice, the women all looked towards the door, where Sherlock and John stood holding their mugs. "Most often caused by physical exertion, though most well known as an effect of embarrassment. You haven't been running or doing any exercises, so," he slid elegantly into one of the available chairs across from her. "What could possibly be so embarrassing that the mere thought of it causes you to blush?"

"It's nothing... _bad._ My brothers tended to take things to the extreme, to the point where it's exasperating to talk about. I was like...thirteen, and I had a crush on a movie character-"

"Oh, which one?" Mary leaned forward to place her chin in her hand.

"Um...Jack from Four Brothers..."

"Oooh, Cracker Jack, yes, I quite liked him. Very handsome."

"Yes, yes, getting got the point where you tell us why it's so embarrassing."

Everyone else chuckled. "I think even I can answer that, Sherlock." John sat down with a sigh. "I s'pose it had something to do with the bathroom scene, yeah?" At this, Diane's face began to glow bright red again.

"Bathroom scene?" The sleuth raised his eyebrow.

"Sherlock, dear, if you don't know, then there's no reason in the world for us to give you something to tease poor Annie, is there?" Mary patted her friend's hand.

"Who the hell is Annie?"Again, a round of laughter passed through the group. None of them were about to give anything away.

"Anyway, this has all been so much fun, but I really need to get upstairs and start unpacking. Lord knows it's bound to be a messy business, and I'd rather not have to deal with it before or after work. If you'll excuse me."

"Annie, darling, do you need any help."

"I love some, but I am warning you, I tend to just pile everything on the floor so I can get the boxes out of the way."

"Oh, well, that's alright. We'll organize them into piles so we know what goes where."

"And what about your belongings down here?" Sherlock groused, well and truly irked to not have been involved in their jokes. "I don't suppose you had any thought to get that rubbish out of my space."

Diane stopped, turned, and then cocked her hip out with a hand on it. "Excuse me? _Your space?_ " To anyone else, the look she shot him might have had them shaking in their boots. But, then again, this was Sherlock.

He stood up so that she had to tilt her head to look at him. "Yes. This is, after all, my home."

"Yeah, well, guess what, buster. As of yesterday, this is _my_ home, too. I'm no more happy about this situation than you are, but ' _que sera sera'*._ " Diane poked the much taller man in the chest. "It's not just your space anymore, and you need to get that fact through that brilliant head of yours, before I see fit to lop it off. Do we have an understanding, Mr. Holmes?"

No one said anything as the two of them had a stare down. One looking up, with a rather menacing look on her face, despite the position. The other looking down, seemingly calm. But, to those who knew him, they knew all too well that he was trying to read her, to see if she was as absolutely boring as she seemed to be. The slight narrowing of his eyes, the almost unnoticeable upturn of the corner of his lips. But she noticed. Her eyes flicked ever so quickly to his mouth, then back up to his face, examining him has he did her. The subtle softening of her eyes gave her away. Checkmate.

He took in a sudden breath, "Yes, I suppose we do." Everyone seemed to shake off the spell they had been under. Meanwhile, Sherlock returned to his spot by the window, taking up his violin. "Just don't move any of my things. And _do_ try not to take up too much space in the bathroom. I've heard women have a tendency to do things like that."

Diane couldn't quite understand what had just happened. "Whatever. C'mon, Mary, let's leave the boys to their shenanigans."

"Yes, let's. You coming, Mrs. Hudson?"

"Oh, no, dear. I've got some cleaning to do downstairs. But, you two go have some fun."

Both the younger women shrugged, linking arms and leaving the flat for the room upstairs.

"Alrighty, then, erm...what about these?" Mary held up a couple of very large T-shirts.

"Those go in the second drawer." Diane had only spared half a second to glance at the garments.

"Are you sure? They look awfully big. Are you sure you didn't pack some of what's-his-name's shirts?" Once again, Diane managed to pull her head from the pile of thing she was sifting through.

"Ye-ah, those are mine. I use them as lounge shirts, sleep shirts sometimes. I don't really like tank tops, they make me feel restricted." Her voice came out muffled as she dove back in. Mary made a face and started folding.

"You know, Mycroft invited us to some sort of gala. Are you going to be there?"

"Found it! Sorry, what?" Diane's face was flushed as she extracted herself from the box with something in her hand.

"I said, 'Mycroft invited us to a gala. Are you going to be there?'"

"Oh, maybe. If so, it's only for work. Help him keep names straight, keep up with the waitstaff and make sure they are on top of everything. I never really go unless he needs me. But, then again, that's my job."

"What if I asked you to go with me and John?"

Her answer took a moment, as she was once again trying to find something. "Uh, well, that would be a different matter. Usually I don't socialize, because I'm working."

"Do you really get paid for that?"

"Yeah. Mycroft is a very generous employer."

"I wonder why..." When Diane looked at her, she raised a brow with a smirk.

"Pfft," she snorted. "I don't even think Mycroft likes women, if he's even interested in people at all. No, he's a high level government employee, basically runs the British government. He knows that I work hard for him, and he tries to make sure I am paid accordingly."

"So, do you put all of his events together?"

"Mmhm. Every appointment, every trip, every gala or party he either needs to attend or hold, I'm the one that puts it all together."

" _Really_? That's amazing. Do you have a book or something that you keep?"

"Of course. I can't remember everything that he needs or wants me to do. Mostly it's illegible to anyone who doesn't know what it's about. Sometimes even to _me_."

"Oh, well then." They continued in relative silence for a while, broken only by the CD/radio/clock Diane had placed on her new nightstand. At least, until Mary opened a box, not noticing the words **BEDROOM-NO OPEN** on it. "Oh, my word."

"What?" The other woman asked distractedly. When she looked up and saw what her friend was looking at, she scrambled over the piles in an attempt to shield her perfect image. All she managed to do was fall down several times, resulting in several bruises, yelping each time. Finally, she managed to swipe the box away from the wide-eyed blonde, effectively landing in her lap at the same time. "I am so sorry you had to see that."

Mary chuckled. "Which part? The sex toys or the failed attempt to keep me from seeing them?"

Her cheeks and ears turned dark red, "Both." They heard footsteps thumping up the stairs, until both men stood panting at the doorway. John had his gun out, him and Sherlock's eyes darting around the room.

"What happened?" John asked breathlessly. "We heard a struggle."

Diane managed to pull the offending box towards her, close it and shove it under her rather grand bed before the men saw it's contents. "Nothing, just me being a klutz. All fine here."

"Yes, perfectly fine. Diane wasn't looking where she was going, and well...you can see how that could hinder her." All of them looked around the room, taking in the obvious mess, boxes broken down and thrown in the corner, clothes everywhere, knick-knacks stuck haphazardly on one of the bookshelves until they could be rearranged, books piled high in multiple stacks, and boxes of personal items all over the dresser and vanity. Organized chaos, the women would have called it. Of course, there was that box that now sat hiding under the bed, it's owner thinking it was safe, that no one had seen it besides Mary. Oh, how wrong she was.

"Right. Are you ok?" John stuffed his gun into the waistband of his pants.

"Good, good."

"Reall? Because you're bleeding," he said plainly, pointing at her knee.

"Shit, ow." Diane quickly moved away from the bed and sat back, holding her knee. Her eyes moved around the room a bit frantically.

"What's wrong?" Sherlock smirked. "You don't get sick at the sight of blood, do you?"

"Of course not, you prick! I'm trying to remember where I put the damn first aid kit. Shit...Um, I think it's in that box right next to you, John." She pointed to his left. When he pointed to the box right next to his foot, she nodded. He bent down and rifled through it for a moment, before pulling out a rather large green bag with a white cross on it.

"Do you really need something like this laying about?" He asked as she knelt in front of her and opened it up. The briefcase shaped bag folded open to reveal an impressive assortment of medical items.

"It was my grandad's. He used to be a doctor in the Navy before he retired and decided to work on cruise ships instead."

"British or American?" Sherlock inquired.

"American. My mom's family is from America."

"Right, well, that should do it. Doesn't need stitches, but it'll hurt like a bastard for a few days. Maybe take it easy with the heels when you go into work this week."

Diane shrugged at him. "Meh, it wouldn't be the first time I've had a busted up knee. I really and truly am a klutz."

 _Indeed_ , Sherlock thought.


	8. Chapter 8

_**Chapter Eight~ Secrets of a Secretary**_

Monday morning brought rain. It had started sometime late in the night, then grew from a small drizzle to storm that threw the rain hard against the windows of Baker Street. Always having been one who slept easily through storms, Diane almost didn't hear her alarm that morning.

 _At first, she was trapped in a dream, one in which the beeping of her clock echoed as she ran through the foggy mismatched land that was her mind. It sounded much like a gong, and when she turned, she could see the brass of it at the top of a pyramid of steps flash in the light that seemed to come from nowhere. Diane started to run, only to find that doing so slowed her as if she were going through mud. A canopy of jeweled trees loomed over her, blocking out the sky. She didn't know if it was day or night. Faces moved in and out of her line of vision; her mother, brothers, friends, Jay, Mycroft, Miranda from the coffee shop. Then new faces; John, Mrs. Hudson, and Sherlock. All around her, voices whispered in the darkness of the forest. They grew in volume, until she lay with her hands over her ears to block them out. Someone was shouting. Something flew over her head, screeching._

The sound of a bow being pulled violently over strings jolted her out of her dream. Diane sat up with a shout, looking around wildly. Coming out of the lethargy of sleep, the sound of her alarm pulled her gaze to the clock's bright red numbers. _7:45 am,_ it read. Slamming her hand down on the off button, she spun around on her bottom, and was greeted with the sight of a pajama clad Sherlock, violin in hand. Seeing that he had effectively woken her up, he smiled at her.

"Good, you're awake."

"No shit, Mr. Holmes. What the hell?"

Pointing his bow at her clock, he said, "It was making noise. Woke me up. You somehow managed to sleep through it."

Diane rubbed her eyes until she saw stars. "And you thought it would be a good idea to come in here and wake me up by making banshee noises?"

"Precisely." Without so much as a blink towards the consequences of what might happen, Sherlock sat down at the end of her bed and lounged against the footboard, running his fingers over the bow.

Having only known the man for a few days, she didn't really know how to respond to that. So, she did the only thing she could do... "You thought it would be a good idea to come into my room? A lady, that you haven't even known for a full week? And you thought you would just barge in here and bother me before I've had a chance to wake up? Before I had my coffee?"

Sherlock scoffed. "You and John with your coffee. Good lord, what is becoming of England."

"Mr. Holmes," she said icely, drawing his gaze back to her. "You presume too much. _I_ am not English. I am American. I will not sit idly by while you torment me like most people do. Do you have any idea what most people back home would do?"

"No idea."

With dark look, Diane's mouth curled up on one side. Pushing the blankets off, she stood, moved to the end of the bed, towering over the curious man. She lowered herself down to his level, placing one arm on the footboard behind him, and put her mouth to his ear. "Unless you would like to be strung up by your intestines, with your eyes gouged out and your balls shoved down your own throat, I suggest you never, _ever_ , attempt to wake me in such a way again. In fact, if you ever so much as approach me before 8 o'clock, I will make sure that your body is never found, and everyone is left thinking you just got bored and _wandered_ off." Pulling back, she noted the slight look of shock, and, dare she hope, fear in his face. "Do we understand each other, Mr. Holmes?" Diane tilted her head, fixing him with her suddenly glassy green eyes.

Looking for any sign that she may be bluffing, Sherlock sat back in utter shock. No one had ever threatened him like that. Not over something so mundane as this anyway. Conceding that he had lost this battle, he nodded.

"Good. Now, I suggest that you go put on some coffee. And remember, if you even speak to me before I have any, you _will_ be sorry. Moriarty will look like a petulant child compared to me." She stood up and turned to put her glasses on. When she turned around, the space at the end of her bed was empty and she could hear quick steps receding down the stairs. "Very smart decision, Mr. Holmes."

Less than half an hour later, Diane stepped into the flat, smiling when she saw John by the fireplace.

"Morning, John. Mary here?"

"Morning. Yes, she's in the kitchen with Sherlock."

"Oh, lovely." She turned into the sliding doors, greeting the blonde woman. "Good morning, Mary."

"Oh, morning, dear. How did you sleep?"

"Great, actually. I love storms. You?"

"I've had better. John kept having fits."

"I see." Spotting the detective over by the coffee pot, she sauntered ever, a wicked smile on her face. "Good morning, Mr. Holmes."

He jumped a bit, somehow not having noticed that she was there. "Morning," he mumbled, shoving a mug into her hand, and dodging around her to escape to the living room. This did not go unnoticed by the others. As he began playing a lovely tune, Mary came up next to her.

"What happened between you two? I've never seen Sherlock act like that around anyone."

"Bastard woke me up by screeching on his violin."

"Oh, dear. But...still, why-"

"Threats were made." Diane smirked over her cup. "Having to do with a noose made of intrails and genitles where they shouldn't be."

Mary started laughing. "Darling, I think you are the only person who has ever threatened Sherlock Holmes and actually made him be afraid."

"Why, thank you. I take pride in that." John, having heard the conversation, stared wide-eyed at the woman who, he had thought, would actually be running away from his best friend by now. Maybe there was more to her than they originally thought. "Mmh," she swallowed the last of her coffee. "I've gotta get going. Are you doing anything later this afternoon?"

"No, I'm actually off today." Mary took her cup to set it in the sink.

"Great, I'm getting shorter hours, so I should be off by 3, if you want to go get something to eat."

"That'd be lovely. Do you want to meet here, or is there any place you had in mind?"

"I don't know yet. But, I'll text you when I figure it out, 'kay?"

"Alright. Have a lovely day." The two women quickly hugged.

"You, too. John, don't work too hard today."

"Well, I'll try not to."

Without so much as a glance backwards, she wrapped up in a coat, grabbed her purse and umbrella which she had placed by the door, and left.

As usual, the Diane's morning was filled with paperwork and appointments. It passed rather slowly, with her eyes glued to her computer screen as she attempted to organize the mess that was Mycroft's job. She was so absorbed by her work, that she didn't hear the door open. It wasn't until Mycroft cleared his throat, that she realized he had been watching her.

"Sir? I'm sorry. Did you need something?"

"Not really. Running the country got a bit dull, thought I'd come out here for some fresh air. Care to join me?" He held out his arm to her, ever the gentleman.

"Oh...um. Give me just a moment. Let me finish up this page and I'll save it." Tapping away, Diane typed out the last of the file's information, and filed it away in the government's secret database with a small flourish. "So, where are we off to?" She asked as she shrugged on her coat.

"I thought we'd take a turn around the greenhouse, have a spot of tea while we discuss the particulars of the gala later this month." She didn't have a chance to speak as he hurried off through the door, leaving Diane to snatch up her purse and hurry after him. The gardens of the government buildings were absolutely beautiful and very well tended. Even in the dead of winter, the greenhouse was always warm and brimming with life. It was a popular place for diplomats to visit after a long day of being stuck inside. As such, dainty tables and chairs were set at intervals to give a sense of privacy between people who met. The area that Mycroft picked was shaded from the afternoon sun by a pink acacia tree, fluffy puff-flowers swayed in the ventilated air.

"This is a beautiful spot, sir."

"Indeed. One of my favorite places. Now, what plans do you already have set for the gala?"

"Just about all of it, I believe, Mr. Holmes. Although, I still need your approval on the menu as well as the guest list." Pulling out the notebook she had mentioned to Mary the day before, she opened it to reveal line after line of what looked absolute gibberish. "Oh, and Her Majesty sends her thanks for the invitation, and would like you to know that she was looking forward to it, as always. However, she had to decline because of a previous engagement. Something about the grandbabies." She thanked the butler that came around with a tray of tea, despite the odd look he gave her when he noticed the fading bruises that still adorned her face.

"Yes, Her Majesty is awfully fond of the young prince and princess. Do you have the lists?"

"Of course, here you are." Diane dug the menu and three-page guest list from the back of the book and handed them over. "On the other hand, Sir Ian was wondering if he was welcome to visit for a while before his next event."

"Yes, yes. He is always welcome, please make sure he shows up for at least an hour. He needs to actually mingle. I made a promise to an old friend."

"Yes, sir." They sat in silence for a few moments as Mycroft went over the lists, making little adjustments here and there as they sipped their tea. Diane raised her face with closed eyes to enjoy the breeze that shifted her hair ever slightly over her cheeks and neck.

"Your face is looking much better since I saw you Saturday. It's good that he didn't manage to hit you too hard despite his alcohol intake."

"Jay's always been a bit of a pansy-assed prick." Remembering who she was talking to, Diane's eyes shot open and she gulped.

Without even missing a beat, Mycroft smiled and said, "Indeed, dear." Giving the last page a final once over, he handed back to her. "I assume you have something to wear."

"For what?"

A smirk showed over the rim of the tea cup. "For the gala." Cocking an eyebrow at her, he continued. "You will be there, of course."

"If you think you'll need me there, I'm sure I can find something."

"I always need you for these sorts of things." There was that strange look that had been emerging more and more over the last few days. An almost fatherly look. "However, I thought that, perhaps, this time you would join the party instead of working behind the scenes. You deserve it for how hard you work all the time. This would be a good time for you to get yourself out there, mingle a bit. Perhaps find yourself a better man than the last one." Before he could continue, she held up her hand.

"Sir, thank you, but I don't think I need another man in my life. Not for a while. This job is too important for me to waste my time on someone who is probably just going to try to suck the life out of me. I'd rather just work hard and make my own way."

With a smile, her boss sat back with his hands linked over his stomach. "Well, then I suppose I won't have to be worrying about maternity leave for a while then, will I?" Diane laughed, gathering up the papers that he had finished with. "In all seriousness, Diane, I would be grateful if you would join me at the gala. Not me, per say, but you should still go."

The secretary gave him her usual smile, she shook her head. "I'll think about it. For now, there are other things we need to tend to."

)0(

It was maddening. That woman had left earlier to cohort with his brother, leaving him to plan his next move with his usual meticulous thought process. Mary and John watched him pace back and forth around the flat, occasionally chiming in with opinions about the wedding plans. Waiting was boring, and nothing irritated Sherlock Holmes more than being bored. Eventually, he heard Mary's phone _ding_ in the kitchen. Checking his watch, he internally smirked. 3:30 on the dot. At least she was punctual.

"Oh, that's Annie. Ta, love." Leaning down, she pecked John on the cheek.

"I might as well share the cab with you. I have to be at work in a bit. Sherlock?"

"Hmm?" Glancing over at them, he put on his most innocent face.

John wasn't convinced. "Don't." Pointing his finger at his friend, the soldier warned, "Stay out of trouble."

"But of course, John." One final suspicious look towards the detective, and John shook his head and left with his fiancee. Sherlock sat with his eyes trained on one spot until he heard the cab door outside slam shut and it drove away. He launched out of his armchair, his dressing gown flapping behind him like a set of satin wings, setting his phone alarm for one hour, to give him enough time to look, observe, and then get back downstairs as to not look suspicious. Taking the stairs two at a time, he easily bound his way up to the third level of the house. As he suspected, her door was left unlocked. With a grin, Sherlock stopped to examine the room so that he could put everything back exactly the way it was before he did his digging. Boxes were still stacked here and there around the room, generally out of the way of someone walking through the room.

Turning to the left, Sherlock was faced with closet. It was open, and at this very moment, looking much more full than it did when he had been there the previous day. Mostly it appeared to be work clothes. Dress shirts and skirts, blazers and ties. It wasn't even organized. That irratated Sherlock. How can she not organize her clothes? Even John managed to sort them by type of clothing. But, in this woman's case, everything appeared to be just flung together. _Messy person, then._ Moving on, as there were no boxes in the space, nothing to hide. On the other wall was her dresser, littered with bits and bobs. Dancing his fingers over the framed pictures and notebooks, blue eyes took in the ornate oval mirror decorated with photos taped onto it, and sticky notes left as reminders. _Forgetful, interesting._ Two small boxes sat on either side of the mirror. One held jewelry. _All well picked for her skin tone and bone structure, conscious of how she looks._ There were a few sets of earrings and rings that looked like they had been handmade. _Large style, made for someone older. Gaudy, materialist. Made for someone with small hands...very small hands._ Not Diane's then, her hands were far too big for these rings. The second box was a bit larger and held a multitude of vitamins, and a few prescription bottles. Closer inspection listed fluoxetine and trazodone on the little green bottles, and things like St. John's Wort, and something called Confianza. _Interesting._

The clothes within the dresser were very casual compared to everything Sherlock had seen Diane where. Most of it was oversized shirts, some short and long pajama pants. There were a few pairs of jeans and some nicer blouses. Other than that, nothing of importance, not even hiding in her underwear drawer. Although, there was much to be said about her choice in undergarments. Some were silky and lacy with bright colors, others were made of cotton with dull whites and beiges. He assumed one was for comfort and the other (as with so many women) were for aesthetics.

Next to him, the books had been neatly placed on the shelves, "Ah, so you organize your books, but not your clothes. Priorities, hmm... Alphabetically by author's last name, then by book title. How very high school-ish of you." _Spent a lot of time in the library._ All series put together, so not quite like a library. The books were an odd mix of what looked like teenage fantasy, with titles like _Harry Potter, Song of the Lioness, Percy Jackson,_ and _Daughters of the Moon._ Then there were things like _Lord of the Rings_ , and even _Symphony of Ages_. It got even stranger with the non-fiction. " _Herbal Medicine._ Fear of hospitals, perhaps? _Hitch-22, H.P. Lovecraft, Aromatherapy, Medical Encyclopedia, From Birth to Five Years?_ And interest in children, helped raise three brothers, so perhaps a hand-me-down." A cup of pens, pencils, and markers, as well as multiple figurines adorned the shelves in front of the books. On the very bottom shelf was a host of paperbacks, some with the spines facing the back of the bookshelf. Six of them bore some variation of title with the word Kushiel in it. By the same writer was another three with similar titles, but with the name Naamah instead. All of the covers were adorned with women, clad in little more than a skirt and a drape, always showing the back, upon which was a sort of rose design. Pulling out one of the turned books, he was somewhat surprised to see that it was a copy of _Fifty Shades of Grey._ Except, inside the cover was a note that read:

 _Laura,_

 _Did not like. Read three pages and had to shut the book. Came back later and pushed through. Why would you try to make me read this drivel? Pure nonsense and absolutely horrible writing style. Don't you dare try to make your book club read this. If they like it, they can read it at home in a closet, it's that bad. I am never letting you offer me another "romance novel" if this can be called that._

 _-Diane_

So, she had enough sense not to enjoy the story. Indeed, Sherlock had read the whole series, if only for him to file it away in the darkest recesses of his mind palace. Apparently, women liked this sort of thing, though he couldn't see why. The character of Christian Grey was quite obviously a madman with control issues. He was glad to see that Diane was in her right mind in that, at least. Placing the book back, he continued on. Under the rather over-the-top gift of a bed that his brother had deemed his secretary worthy of, there was a multitude of clear boxes that held blankets and other knick-knacks that were to be put in their proper spot later. No sign of the mysterious box that Diane had been so keen on he and John not seeing.

In the corner was a green case, about three feet in length. Upon opening it, Sherlock was greeted with a disassembled instrument, presumably the bass clarinet that she had spoken of when he first met her. An assortment of reeds and cork grease, and some music sheets in the pocket told him that she was avid about her practice of the instrument. And talented if her choice in pieces was anything to go by. The small shelf under the bedside table was filled with all manner CDs, from Journey, to what appeared to be Disney soundtracks. The drawer held nothing more interesting than a sketchbook, which had random drawings of this and that, a photo of a woman who bore a resemblance to his new flatmate sat next to a half finished picture that was nowhere close to a likeness. _Likes to draw, but not very talented. So, more musically inclined, quick fingers, but clumsy when drawing a straight line._

There were no more boxes or shelves, nowhere for her to have hidden the contents of her mystery box. Curiosity seethed within the detective. There were no nooks and crannies like in the flat downstairs, no skulls or slippers for her to hide drugs or cigarettes. Everything was in place, with just a dash of haphazardness about it. Most people were so simple. They hid thing in the easiest of hiding places. Personal items were usually kept within arms-reach of someone's most comfortable-

 _Oh!_

A wicked grin broke across his face. In a new place, where someone else already lived, there were no comfortable spaces in the flat. The only place she was comfortable was her room. And the most comfortable spot, that was within easy reach...

Sherlock lifted the edge of the bed up, and was giddy to find a journal. Flipping through it, it appeared to be a dream journal, detailing every overactive, sleep induced trip. Some had doodles, as if she couldn't accurately describe something she had seen with meer words. The most recent entry had been that very same morning. The retelling described a forest of jewels, and a temple to which she felt drawn. Only to be sidetracked by some creature attacking her with a screech that tore at her ears and dazed her. It ended with:

 _It frightened me, between the gong that reverberated through my body, and the cry that brought me to the ground. Faces all around me seemed to be talking, though I could not hear them over these sounds. I managed to pull myself out of it, only to wake up and find my alarm clock blaring, and the insanity that is Sherlock Holmes screeching away on his violin. Apparently I had woken him up. Oh well, tough shit. He had the audacity to sit on my bed after scaring me awake like that? I don't think so. Although, I think I have adequately scared him into refraining from such activities for a while, considering I basically tore him a new asshole._

He briefly wondered who the faces that spoke to her were, but he was distracted by something poking out from under the mattress. Without even thinking, Sherlock reached down and pulled it out. He wasn't really all that surprised to find it to be a vibrator. It was clean. At least it was as far as he could tell. Curiosity was piqued. Kneeling down, he raised it up again and saw a small collection of toys. Surely this wasn't _all_ that had been in the box. Because, he was certain there had been much more than a few toys. Most women used alternate means of getting off, as their anatomy and physiology were very different from men, and it made it harder for many to do so by simple in and out penetration.

His phone started beeping in his pocket. Alerting him that his hour was up.

 _No, not yet_. How had it already been so long? He still hadn't found the rest of the boxes contents! Sherlock continued to try to figure out another place she could have hidden them, to little avail. Outside, he heard a car door close. "Damn." Placing the journal and toys back under the mattress, he hurried out of the room, as he could now hear Diane and Mary speaking out on the stoop. He was downstairs and back in his chair before they even opened the front door. It took very little to appear as if he had been in that same position the whole time.

)0(

"I'm serious!" Mary said as she led the way up.

"You've been here your whole life," Diane stepped through the door to the flat after her friend. "How have you never been to that restaurant?"

"Well, I suppose not having a lot of business up in that part of town will do it. Alright there, Sherlock?" The two women took in the sight of the detective sitting with his legs stretched out in front of him, fingers steepled on his lips, staring at no particular place. He didn't respond to them, though neither really expected him to. They looked at each other and shrugged, moving on to the kitchen to continue their conversation. "Anyway, thank you for lunch. It was lovely to get out for some girl time."

"My pleasure, Mary. Lord knows I needed it, too. Kinda hard to have girl time when you don't have many girlfriends."

"You are preaching to the choir, dear. Maybe next time we should invite Mrs. Hudson along. I'm sure she'd love some time away from the flat."

"That's a great idea. We can take a day this weekend, if you're off, go out for a little shopping. Mycroft is insistent that I go to the gala this time, mingle, put myself out there as he put it. I'm gonna need to find an actual dress."

"Do you not have something hiding away in the closet? No sexy little black dress you've been saving for a special occasion?" Mary leaned in conspiratorially, as if it were some sort of dirty little secret. Diane just laughed.

"The only dress I was saving was a white one, and I very much doubt a wedding dress counts as gala-appropriate." Pulling a glass out of the cupboard, she filled it with water from the sink. After taking a sip, she pointed out, "No, that wouldn't do at all. As much as I hate spending money on fancy things, it seems that this time, it's mandatory."

"I thought perhaps we could play together." Sherlock interrupted the conversation as if he had been talking to them the whole time. Both women turned to look at him with shock. Neither of them knew that crazy thing had been happening in his mind. For all they knew, he _had_ been carrying on a conversation with someone...

"Sorry, what was that?" Diane asked.

"Play. Together."

"Yeah, we got that Sherlock," Mary rolled her eyes. "Who were you talking to, and about what?"

Pointing to the darker haired woman by the sink, he continued. "You mentioned that you played the bass clarinet. Mycroft usually bothers me to perform at his events. If you are going to be there, perhaps it would be...entertaining to put on a show." The two stared at each other. One in confusion, the other as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

"Um...I wasn't planning on performing. Besides, Bassy and I haven't performed in public since I was in college."

Mary broke out laughing. "You named your bass clarinet _Bassy?_ " She was nearly doubled over. "Where in God's name did you come up with that?" Indeed, Sherlock was interested as well, and he waited patiently for her to explain.

With an exasperated sigh, she conceded. "When I was in high school, there was an anime called _Black Butler_ that I watched. One of the main characters was named Sebastian. He was a demon butler, and he always wore black and white and silver. Another character named Grell called him Bassy as a nickname..." Mary was in tears, she was laughing so hard. Even Sherlock looked like he was having a hard time not laughing. "What?! Come on, I was a teenage band girl with nothing better to do in my spare time than read and watch anime. Don't judge me. Music enthusiast name their instruments. I'm sure even Sherlock has a name for his violin." At this, the man in question stiffened, his face drawn up tightly.

The blonde woman turned back to the man in the other room, holding back giggles as she did so. "Really? Is that so? Come on, Sherlock, share with the class. What did you name your violin?" When he got up to leave, she moved to follow him. "Don't be a sourpuss, Sherlock. I really want to know."

He stopped for a moment at the hallway, his back facing them. Stubbornly, she turned his head ever so slightly and bit out, "Elvira." Then retreated into his bedroom. The laughter of the two women followed him as he closed his door.


	9. Chapter 9

_**Chapter Nine~ Shopping Spree**_

Diane left Mary to go put her things away. Immediately after opening her door, she could tell that something was off. There was just the slightest difference in the smell of the room, the ghost of someone else's scent. Nothing was out of place anywhere. Even in the closet, all her clothes were exactly as she had left them. Closing her door, Diane went to her bed and sat down to take her shoes off. One shoe, then the other, and then her leg hit the side of the bed. She stopped. Reaching down, she felt for the edge of her notebook. Feeling nothing, the woman stood and lifted the edge just a bit to check. It was still there, but it had been moved. And so had the toy she used most regularly. Both had been pushed farther back than she always had them. Diane closed her eyes and took a long inhale through her nose. The human brain remembered smell, even if they couldn't place where it came from. But this one she knew. She had faced off with this same scent just that morning, first while threatening Sherlock after he woke her up, and then again when she snuck up on him before leaving for work.

"Son of a bitch." She should have known he wouldn't be able to resist snooping. That was his job after all. Being a snoop, knowing everything about everyone from just their appearance. When he couldn't figure something out, he hunted until he found the missing pieces. Mary had warned her about it while they had been at lunch. Shaking her head, she put the items back and decided there was nothing she could do at this moment for it. Besides she had other things to do, namely setting the final plans for the gala. There were phone calls to be had, appointments to be made, and details to finish. From the center of her bed, she spread out all her papers and texted Mary that she had to do some work. The response was an easy 'Ok, see you later.'

After a few hours of talking to this person and that, and making corrections to one note or another, she rubbed her eyes and sighed. From the corner, her instrument case beckoned her. It had been far too long since the last time she played. With a smile, she pulled her music stand out of the closet and set it up in front of her chair next to the window. Diane ran her hands lovingly over the green shell that protected it from every bump and bruise that could potentially cost her a lot of money in repairs. She picked out a nicely worn-in reed and stuck it in her mouth to wet it. The bass clarinet was broken down into four pieces. First, the body was connected in the middle, making sure the bridge key was lined up correctly. Then the large curved bell on the bottom with it's single leg to keep it off the ground and at lip height. The long, s-shaped neck was inserted, only to the line she had long ago drawn on the connecting piece so she never played flat or sharp. Then the mouthpiece, to which she attached the reed that was now adequately moistened. Her fingers settled over the keys with a comfortable sigh.

Picking out the sheet music she had been practicing when Jay had walked in and told her to stop, she settled into herself. As she raised the mouthpiece to her lips, Diane found her posture straighten and her mouth shape the embouchure. The first note came out a bit squeaky, but quickly became smooth and deep as she continued to play. Her whole body moved with the music, as it flowed through her like the breath she used to make the notes.

)0(

Downstairs, John was now home again. He and Mary had started dinner when they heard the music start floating down from the new tenant's room. Sherlock had been typing up an update on one of his cases for his blog, and his fingers froze over the keys. The tone was deep and rich, and it reverberated through the floor, the walls, and the bodies of the people listening. The music swelled, then faded out, picking up again on a higher note. As a musician, Sherlock could feel the passion in the song. Even John and Mary could feel it deep inside. Whatever Diane was playing, it was near and dear to her heart, perhaps a song she had written herself, as Sherlock often did. Out of nowhere, there was a sudden _squeak_ of a note played too harshly, and a muttered "Damn it," from the next floor up. Then the song continued, picking up from the measure previously played.

No one said anything, but listened with silent awe. Mary and John smiled at each other, as it sounded very much like a love song. They eventually started dancing around the kitchen in a slow waltz. Sherlock sat at his computer, staring at the screen. A small smile crept over his face as he listened to the woman upstairs play her heart out. Perhaps it was something that held meaning to her. Maybe she had been planning on playing it for her ex-fiance. Music was a universal language that even his cold heart could understand.

The song ended with one final, haunting note. It hung in the air like smoke.

)0(

The week passed by without much more trouble from Sherlock. But then again, he and John had been busy wrapping up a case they had been hired to investigate. This meant that Diane was given some peace and quiet whenever she got home from work, enough to finish unpacking, or organizing, or planning for future events. Mrs. Hudson came upstairs sometimes to socialize, usually bringing a tray of tea and biscuits. That Wednesday evening, no one else was in the flat, so Diane decided to invite the older lady up for dinner. The day before, Diane had exchanged numbers with John and (heaven help her) Sherlock so that she could know whether or not to expect more people when she did cook.

She actually found herself doing that quite a bit more often, now that Mycroft had given her less hours. With which Diane spent time cooking and cleaning and practicing her bass clarinet. Having not practiced so much in so long, the muscles around her mouth and jaw were in excruciating pain, and her fingers felt as though they might fall off at any moment. It was nice. In the back of her mind, she thought about the reason why she had so much off time. Absentmindedly stirring the mashed potatoes, Diane felt almost bad about not doing the job her employer had given her. Keeping up with Sherlock Holmes. To be fair, John had been with him for the most part, like he was now.

There was a knock at the kitchen door leading to the hall, and a small, "Woohoo?" Mrs. Hudson poked her head in. "Oh, it smells lovely, dear." The ever-present tea tray was set down on the table, which Diane had cleared of any of her flat-mate's experiments and scrubbed clean with bleach.

"Thank you, Mrs. Hudson. Go ahead and have a seat. Dinner's almost ready." The younger woman turned her attention back to the roast in a crockpot on the counter, opening it up to pull apart the meat.

"You didn't have to do all this for me, dearie." Purple painted fingers went through the motions of pouring tea into two cups, a sweet smile on the old woman's face.

"I know I didn't. But, I like cooking. And baking. Besides, I told Mary I'd have you over for some girl time. Unfortunately, she got called in a little while ago."

"Oh," she said around a sip of tea. "Is that all the rushing about I heard earlier?"

"Yes, ma'am. So, looks like it'll just be me and you for the evening."

"Sherlock and John out and about tonight then? Those two, going out all times of the night, you never know when they're going to be home or not. John's settled down a bit, what with the wedding coming along and all that. Sometimes I wonder about Sherlock. It's not right for a person to be all by themselves all their lives."

"I hardly think Sherlock Holmes is very much of a people person, Mrs. Hudson."

"No, I suppose not. But, he really is a sweet boy, just had a rough time of it, that's all. Growing up with that wretched brother of his-" her tirade was stopped when Diane turned and raised an eyebrow at her. Her hands flew to her mouth. "Oh, dear. I didn't mean...It's just that..."

"It's alright, Mrs. Hudson. I understand that Mr. Holmes isn't the most considerate of people. To be fair, I don't really think either of them had such a great childhood. But, Mycroft at least knows when something that he says is going to affect someone a certain way, unlike his brother, who has no care for anyone it would seem." Turning back to the roast, she muttered, "High functioning sociopath indeed."

"You shouldn't be so hard on him."

With a sigh, Diane faced the older woman once again. "He has done very little to warrant any other kind of thought towards him. He was very rude the first night we met, and has continued to do so over the last few days. No doubt you heard that he came into my room and woke me up."

"Well, yes-"

"And he went in there again the other day while I was at lunch with Mary, and went through my things."

"I didn't-"

"Of course you didn't, because no one else was home." Diane busied herself with preparing two plates for their meal. "That man has no respect for anyone else's personal space, or even a dash of empathy towards other people's feelings. I'm not saying he's a bad man, but he has been so driven to prove himself smarter than everyone that he puts no thought to what kind of solitary life that will leave him with. I'm sure he is very kind when the time calls for it, but only if it will benefit him in some way. Sociopaths are manipulative by nature. I'm sure Mr. Holmes has used his particular...charm to get what he wanted more than a few times."

"Of course I have." Both women spun around to see Sherlock standing in the doorway, pulling his gloves off, John standing behind him with his mouth agape. "John, do close your mouth. You'll catch flies."

"Sherlock!" His friend managed to mutter as the taller man made his way around the table. "I told you...before I left, I _told_ you-"

"Yes, yes, you told me not to." By now he was standing right next to Diane, who was still holding the plate of food she had just been preparing. He was looking around at the now clean kitchen. "What in the hell have you done to this place?"

"I cleaned it, Mr. Holmes. Something you should probably do more often. Who knows what kind of bacteria has been moldering on these counters since the last time poor Mrs. Hudson has cleaned for you."

"Yes, it's an experiment." With that, he snatched the plate out of her hand and made his way to the living room.

"Mr. Holmes, you can't just claim something is an experiment every time you don't want someone to touch it. I found overlapping spots of dried blood on the table. Mouse droppings all over the edges of the counter! Moldy eyeballs in the goddamn microwave!"

"Your point, Ms. Smith? Quickly, if you please."

"Sherlock!" Mrs. Hudson admonished.

"Just because you are an unattached bachelor, does not give you the right to make the living space of others hazardous to reside. Your oddities do not give you free reign to do whatever you damn well please. How Mrs. Hudson puts up with you, I don't understand. How John manages to not strangle you on a daily basis is a wonder."

"Oh, so he's John?"

Diane stopped. "What?" She asked, confused at the sudden turn of the conversation, hazel eyes blinking quickly as she tried to keep up.

"I think it's quite interesting that you refer to him as John, and even my brother as Mycroft on occasion. Yet, you always call me _Mr. Holmes._ I wonder, why is that?"

John had his face in his hand, rubbing his eyes hard. "Sherlock, that is not the point of the conversation, and you are trying to change the subject." The blonde man stared hard at his friend. "And I, at least, have been friendly to Diane. But, that's besides the point."

Sherlock touched his fingers to his lips as he examined the people before him, lingering on Diane. "I'm waiting."

"For what?" She sighed.

"For your explanation. I am most curious." John threw his hands up, muttering, 'Useless, bloody useless.'

"After what you pulled the other day, you don't deserve an explanation. I would have thought that after my threat the other day, you might have at least waited a few weeks before _that_." Shaking her head, she went back to the cabinet and pulled down two more plates, loading them up with meat, carrots, potatoes, and gravy. Diane set them down on the table, one in front of Mrs. Hudson, and the other at the empty space beside her. "Hungry, John?"

"Oh, starving." Graciously, he pulled off his jacket and slung it over the back of the chair before digging into the food she had set down. "Thank you."

"Of course." She got one more plate for herself, but didn't sit down immediately. Instead, she moved around behind John to grab his jacket and put it on the coat hook next to the door. She checked something in the oven quickly, then grabbed the oven mit to pull it out. The flat was engulfed in the scent of fresh cookies, and she set them out on a cooling rack before she sat down and started eating as well. "Sorry if it's not great. I'm an ok cook, but nowhere near as good as my mom. My baking skills are pretty good though."

"Diane, sweetie, it's delicious. I'm sure if you ever decided to stop working for Mycroft, you could open up your own restaurant." At this, the younger woman laughed.

"No, no, no. I have no desire to ever own a restaurant. I like cooking, but not that much. I think I'll stick with being a secretary."

They were all silent for a while as they ate. Even Sherlock, who rarely ate during a case, was devouring it. Although, he often ate very little anyway, yet cleared his plate in only a few minutes. He could smell the cookies from the living room, and they were tempting. It couldn't hurt to have one. Getting up, he passed the others to place his dishes in the sink, then moved to pick up a treat.

Only to have his hand slapped.

Diane was standing next to him, apparently having finished her own meal as well. "No dessert until you clean your plate." He followed her pointed finger to the sink, where his dishes sat by themselves. Then his gaze lifted to the pile of cookware drying by the sink in the dish rack. Since when did they have a dish rack? Sherlock peered at Diane, raising his eyebrows at her as if to ask _Are you serious?_ "I'm not kidding Sherlock. Clean your own goddamn dishes for a change." Gathering up hers, she quickly washed the plate and fork that she had been using and dried them off before setting them in the cupboard. She then proceeded to look him right in the eye as she grabbed a cookie and bit into it and chewed slowly. With a smile, she closed her eyes and gave an appreciative groan. "Mmh, so good." The other two watched on in morbid fascination. "Too bad you can't have any." Diane finished off the cookie and grabbed a few more, handing them to John and Mrs. Hudson.

There was a quirk to her lips, he could see it now. She was testing him...or challenging him. Mind games. His favorite. The looks John and their landlady were giving him seemed to be telling him to just do it and get it over with. Of course, he could have just moved past her and went to sit down. This was his home after all. If he was right in his deductions, this _girl_ would eventually clean it up anyway. It was just a power play. She was in a new place, and she had already been undermined with his escapade in her room. And now, she was trying to show that she could make him do things he didn't want to do. There were so many things he could do to make her cave and leave, which was his ultimate goal. The last thing he needed was another one of Mycroft's lackies following him around everywhere. John had very nearly been one, but he hadn't taken the money, much to Sherlock's fascination.

So, why was she still here? By now, most people, besides John, had told him to bugger off. Sherlock knew he was a difficult person to deal with, and he liked it that way. If Moriarty had taught him one thing, it was that he needed to stop letting people in. Caring was not an advantage. He usually didn't care what other people thought about him, and it usually didn't bother him when they called him things like _freak_ or _crazy_ or some variation. _So, why did it bother him that she hadn't run off yet?_ One could argue that her previous affiliation with his brother had hardened her to the effects of his, what had she called it? Charm? But then, Mycroft had told them that he had never deduced her...at least, not out loud. And if he was correct, his dear _Iceman_ of a brother had some sort of affection for the girl. If the gift of a rather expensive looking bed set, and the intention of having her live with him and keep an eye on him, something he didn't trust many people with, he would think that his brother actually cared. Then there was the interest he had in the man who had bruised up his secretary.

She wasn't just here because she had no other place to go, it wasn't because of the money, although it was probably a good motivator. He could tell from her spiel earlier that she wasn't all together too keen on him. So, what _was_ it?

The woman in question was now sitting down and enjoying the tea Mrs. Hudson had previously brought up. With a jolt, Sherlock realized that all of that had happened in his head in the span of a few moments.

"Alright there, Sherlock?" John shook him out of his thoughts.

"Mmh? Fine, fine." By now, they were all looking at him.

Diane's was somewhat confused as to why he was still just standing there. She had fully expected him to grab a cookie and walk away, but he hadn't. No, he was just standing there, staring at her. For a moment, she wondered if he was trying to figure out a way to freak her out, which was highly possible, she knew. She watched his eyes narrow at her, then he turned around and swiped a cookie. _Ah, there we go-wait what?_ Instead of retreating back into the living room, the sleuth had stuck the cookie in his mouth and turned back to the sink. Within a minute, the dishes were cleaned and put away...and the cookie was gone. He grabbed a few more, and gave her a smug look before disappearing around the corner. Diane turned to the others, eyes wide with confusion.

"What the hell was that?" She whispered.

John shook his head. "I have...no idea. Sherlock never does his own dishes."

"I figured that, but what the hell was with the look he was giving me?"

"Oh, that's just Sherlock, dear." Mrs. Hudson waved it off. "Probably just trying to figure you out. He does that. Looks at people like bugs under a microscope. It's just his way of being...well, not necessarily friendly, but he's trying. So, at least there's that. Anyway, you were saying something about this weekend?"

The constant shift of topics was making her head spin. Taking a sip of tea, she attempted to keep up. "Um...Mary and I were going to go out for a girls' day. Mycroft wants me to be at the gala, mingling. And I need a dress, so we thought we'd go shopping, make a day of it. We wanted to know if you'd like to come along."

"Oh, I'd love to dear. What with that whole bad business with Mr. Chatterjee downstairs, it would be good for me to get out. Although, I won't be going to any kind of party. Not much for standing around in a room full of pomp. My hip, you see, no good for all that anymore. I'm more of the sitting down type nowadays."

"Of course," John patted her hand. "But, it won't be the same without you there, Mrs. Hudson."

Playfully swatting his arm, she giggled. "Oh, you."

)0(

Saturday rolled around without much issue from Sherlock, who had all but ignored his new flatmate the rest of the week. He and John would be spending the day working on another case while the ladies were out, so everyone ended up meeting in the living room, much to the detectives irritation. The women were chattering away over coffee and tea, talking about all manner of ridiculous things, taking up the couch above which Sherlock had laid out his usual web of evidence. Every minute that they sat there, in the way of his thought process, he got more and more irritable. It was already almost 10 o'clock.

"Oh, for heaven's sake! Don't you women have anything better to do than muck up my work?!" Everyone stopped and looked at him. "Honestly! Couldn't you take your gossip out with you shopping, or whatever other ridiculous thing it is that women do when they're together?" He was pacing now, "Whole day ahead of you, so many places to go. Isn't that what you strive for?!"

Diane was the first to snap out of her shocked daze first. "Uh, no. Not really. I actually hate shopping for clothes. I'm only going out because your brother, my _boss_ , asked me to go. And if I have to suffer through this, at least I've got some friends to make the day better." She stood up, rolling her eyes at him. "But, if it really bothers you that much-"

"It really does." He cut in.

Giving him a hard look, she continued, "Then we'll go ahead and get out of your hair."

"Thank you!" He threw his hands up. "Finally, a chance to actually think."

John was speechless at the antics of his friend. Sure, he was a rude bastard, but he usually had a bit more patience. Besides, this wasn't all that of a pressing case. He kissed Mary as she came around to say goodbye, then waved them out the door. "That was a bit much, don't you think?"

"What? No. They knew they were in my way." Sherlock waved him off. John rubbed the bridge of his nose.

)0(

The day dragged on, Mary and Mrs. Hudson pulling Diane into every dress shop they saw. They must have tried on a hundred dresses, with Mrs. Hudson sighing and cooing at them, and commenting on whether the colors went well with their skin tone, or the dress complemented their body shape... All in all, it was a long day. Diane already had shoes at the flat that she knew would go well with just about anything, and jewelry to accommodate whatever she picked. They had stopped once for lunch a few hours ago, and now it was nearing dinner time. The sky was darkening and they were all beginning to get tired.

"Come on, one more shop. I'm certain you'll find the right one." Mary was tugging her along behind, ushering her into the last store on the street. She had already found a lovely cream colored dress and low heels that matched perfectly. Diane was having a bit more trouble. There had been a few that she liked, but most of them were either too pricey, or too over the top for a soiree such as Mycroft's. If she didn't find one that she absolutely loved, then she would settle for one she'd seen at the most previous store.

Mostly, Diane just wanted to go home. It had started raining half an hour ago while Mary was shoving another dress over the top of the door, a horridly pink on, only to have it thrown back into her face with a terrified yelp. "I don't do pink!" The other two women just laughed, saying that it would go wonderfully with her skin tone. Unfortunately, she hadn't been able to convince them that it _really_ didn't and had been forced to try it on anyway. When she came out of the dressing room, a pained grimace on her face, Mary and Mrs. Hudson realized what she had meant. Despite the lovely color, something about it really did clash with...well everything. All of them agreed that from now on, no pink.

It seemed that both of the older women were much more enthusiastic about the whole thing than she was, as they ran up and down the aisles, pulling dress after dress off the racks. Insisting she try on each and every one, they pushed her into the dressing room with promises that they'd find the right one. One by one, she shrugged in and out of various kinds of material, creating small electric charges with each one, which caused her to shock herself every time she touched the door handle. Occasionally, she didn't even come out, just took one look and said loud enough for the others to hear, "Nope!" And tossed it back to them. Finally, she had only three left. A silver one that was straight-backed with a slit in the back to allow her to walk. The second was a navy blue with a sparkly bodice and a _really_ low dip on both the back and the front. Like, so low in the back that it showed off the very top of her ass-crack. How could any woman in their right mind wear such a thing out in public? The final dress was dark green, sort of a drapey, flowing material.

"Mary, I need some help." She said, her head poked out of the door to beckon the blonde woman.

Taking care to keep any prying eyes from peeking in on her half naked friend, Mary slid in through the crack in the door. "Oh, those are nice." She smiled at her friend. "Just out of these three, then?"

"Well, they're the only ones left."

"Alright, well, let's see what we have here." Picking up the first one, she held it up against Diane's body, examining it. "Mmh...I'm not really sure this is...well, _you_. Too much sparkle, to be honest. I mean, you'd certainly draw everyone's eyes."

"That's not the point of me going, Mary. I'm just there as backup. I have to be able to go in and out of the room so I can check up on things."

"Right, so that's a no." Putting the dress back on it's hanger, she hung it on the door and continued. She didn't even have to hold this second dress up to her friend to know that it was not right. "Nope, nope. How could you even consider this one?"

"I didn't really. I just left it there so you could see it. Thought maybe you would like."

"Yeah, well, I don't." Mary shook her head and put it on the door. At sight of the last dress, she smiled. "This one, I think. The color is good on you."

"Curse of being of olive skin tone. Bright colors are shit on me, and dark colors have to be the right kind of dark."

"I suppose. Well, go on, try it on." Turning towards the door to let her friend dress, chatting about this and that while she shrugged into the material. After a moment, Diane had gone quiet. "You alright, darling?" When she turned, the woman in question was standing in the middle of the dressing room, staring at her reflection. "Oh, dear. Well, isn't that a sight. Come on, let's go show Mrs. Hudson."

The older lady awwed and cooed over the dress, telling her it was absolutely perfect. And the longer Diane looked at it, the more she realized that they were right. It _was_ perfect. Eager to be out of there, she went up and paid, thanking the woman behind the counter when she handed it to her in a solid colored bag. Afterwards, all three of them piled into a car and drove back to Baker Street. Sitting there, Diane was became acutely aware of just how tired she was. Suddenly, she was glad she elected to wear sneakers and jeans, instead of the heels and suit attire she usually did. Upon arriving at 221B, the two older women invited her in for dinner, which she graciously declined, saying she was far too tired to deal with Sherlock and his antics after the day she'd had. Quickly, Mary mentioned having to go get manicures before the party, and maybe even a haircut, then sent Diane up with a hug and a kiss on the cheek.


	10. Chapter 10

_**Chapter Ten~ Dance**_

 _ **A/N: Ok, so, for your pleasure, I have put up a link on my profile that will lead to the site I found the dress I'm basing Diane's off of. Just remember that her's is green, and the one in the picture is grey. Also, I am trying to add another pic on there, one of a friend of mine that does immaculate make-up. I asked her to send me some pics of her with her make-up and hair done, because she is who I loosely based Diane off of. So, she is the...model of my character. Now, what shall our beloved detective think of our lovely Diane when he sees her at the gala? Let's find out, shall we?**_

How did she get talked into this? There was a lady at her feet, scrubbing and picking, another at her side asking what color she wanted. God, she hated nail parlors. With their nauseating chemical smell and the women looking far too closely at her fingers. Not that her nails were all that bad, Diane just never really took the time to get them professionally done. But Mary had insisted. So, here she was, at Vy Nail Salon, with one foot in warm water, and the other being mercilessly scrubbed with a pumice stone. Seriously, was she that crusty to warrant such rough treatment? Not that it hurt, it was just a bit odd. Glancing over a Mary, who was relaxed as can be, was chatting merrily with her nail technician, Diane sighed. Might as well enjoy it. _Because I am not doing this again for a long while_.

"What do you think, Diane?"

"Hmm?" Her eyes went back into focus on the woman who she had been staring at.

Mary just laughed, brushing it off. "Which color do you think would go best with my dress, the nude, or the one that looks like pomegranate?" She held both colors out to her friend.

After a moment of consideration, Diane handed them back, saying, "The red one, give you a splash of color."

"Good idea. What about you? What are you gonna go with? I personally think that you should get black with some gold design or something."

"Why?" Diane quirked an eyebrow. "It's not like I really have anyone to impress. It's just my boss, and all his high-up associates. Besides, no one's going to be looking at my hands."

"Oh, I think you'll find that they are, darling. Have you really never been to one of these before?"

Diane shook her head. "No, I always helped out behind the scenes, y'know? I usually run around in the kitchen, making sure the right courses go out, keep the staff from wondering off when they aren't supposed to, and giving them breaks when they need it."

"Really? That must be exciting."

"That's one word for it. Another would be work." The woman at Diane's feet was now scraping off bits of excess skin around her cuticles, and she had to fight the urge to kick her in the face.

"Yes, well, you are not doing any work this time 'round, so enjoy it. Has Sherlock found your dress yet?" Mary gave her a pointed look.

"Of course not, though not for lack of trying. I'm keeping it at the office until I get there to do last minute checks on everything. I'll be doing my hair and make-up at the flat though, so I won't have to worry about that." Mary was giggling at her. "What?"

"You and Sherlock. Ah, you're like children."

"Well, if you're going to deal with a child, you have to act like one. Otherwise they don't learn." When her friend gave her an odd look, she raised her hand, holding up fingers. "Three brothers, remember?"

"Right. Anyway, I still think you should go with the black and gold design. You won't have to worry too much about it chipping or anything, since you only have to wait until tomorrow night to keep yourself from picking."

Diane grimaced. Mary had noticed that she never had any one color of nail polish on for very long. Usually foregoing the salon, Diane painted her nails herself, often ending in frustration when she smudged them, or putting on another coat before it was finished drying, which melted the layers together and made for a terrible mess. When she did finally managed to get them done to her liking, she would always end up picking at them when they started to chip, often leaving tiny spots of paint in the recesses between the edge of her nail and the ridge of her skin. It was hard for her to resist picking at the polish, as the feel of catching things on it irritated her. Plus the constant need to be on the move. More than once, Sherlock had gotten upset at her because she was always moving her hands, either picking at them, spinning her rings around her fingers, or tapping and twirling a pen. Suffice to say, Diane very easily went stir crazy, though not as quickly as her flatmate.

"Yeah, sure. Why not?" Diane nodded to the nail tech who was waiting for her decision. "Just a couple of dots and lines, I suppose."

)0(

To be fair, Diane really did like the design the tech had done on her nails. What she didn't like, was Sherlock's comments about the design when she got home.

"So, are you trying to put yourself above Mary?"

"What the hell are you even talking about, Mr. Holmes?" The fumes from the nail parlor had given her a headache, and she really just wanted some tea.

"Traditionally, people who wore black polish were of higher status than those who did not."

"Actually, no, you've got it backwards." She rolled her eyes and continued watching the kettle boil. "Red and other such bright colors were worn in ancient China as a symbol of high status, with black being a step or so lower, and clear or pale colors being used for the lower class. It was meant to protect their nails from cracking." Behind her, she could hear Mary snickering. Turning around, she saw Sherlock staring at her with an odd look. "What? You're not the only one with random useless facts running around their brain." The electric kettle clicked off, telling her it was done, so she poured the steaming water in the pot, letting it steep. "So, John, what time do you think you'll show up tomorrow evening?"

"Oh, er...probably about half past. Don't want to be the first there and all that."

"True enough. Tea?"

"Please. What about you? Are you not going to be riding with us?"

Diane settled into the sofa next to Mary, spooning sugar into her cup. "No, I have to go in early for a few last minute preparations. I'll be there about the same time you will, probably. Did Mary show you her dress?"

"Yes, yes she did. It is absolutely beautiful, just like anything she could possibly wear." The comment was met with a scoff and an eye roll from the other man, who was plucking at his violin. "Shut up, Sherlock."

"What? You're obviously only saying that because you expect to charm her back into bed tonight." The two women started laughing, which irked the detective.

"Unlike you, Mr. Holmes, who has to trick and worm his way into being liked, I'm pretty sure John does _not_ have that problem with Mary."

"Quite right," Mary chimed, getting up to kiss John's cheek. "He doesn't have to do a thing to charm his way into my bed." Another eye roll from Sherlock.

"It's called love, Holmes." Diane chided while taking a sip of tea. "You can be angry as hell at the other person, and you'll still want to hold them at night. And when something like that comes along," she smiled into her cup, "Every little thing they do is charming. They don't have to try, but you'll be enchanted by every look, every move, every annoying thing they say." The couple by the fire were nodding along, grinning. "And every moment that you're with them, you'll want to touch them, even just brushing their hand. And when you're not, you'll wish you were. Your world revolves around that person."

John and Mary shared a look in that moment, one that made Diane all at once, happy and sad. Happy because they looked like they truly had found that person in each other, and she was glad for them. But, she was sad. Because, she had once thought she found that, too. In that moment, everything was warm and loving. One could taste it in the air, it was that thick. Diane felt her heart swelling with it, almost bringing her to tears. But, of course, _someone_ had to ruin it.

"Yes, well. Do forgive me if I don't refer to you as an expert in that department." Sherlock grumped as he continued plucking the strings.

"Sherlock, that was rude!" John said.

"No, it's alright. I know what he meant. I was just saying, that that's what it feels like."

" _Feelings._ " Sherlock mocked with disdain. "Feelings are irrelevant to an intelligent mind. Caring is not an advantage."

"You say that now." Diane shrugged. "But, one of these days, someone is going to come along and mess up that funny head of yours, Mr. Holmes. And you'll be so dead set on trying to tell yourself that ' _feelings don't matter_ ' that you are going to drive that person away. And when that happens, it'll leave you spinning in place, trying to figure out how to just _survive_ without that person in your life. Now," she set her cup down a bit hard. "If you'll excuse me, I have to go finish up some work." Not bothering to worry about the noise, she walked out the front door, slamming it as she went, which caused the mirror on the wall to quiver.

"Oh, dear. I think you rather upset her, Sherlock." John murmured.

"So?"

Mary sighed. "Sherlock, dear, she's going to be your housemate. Whether you like it or not-"

"I don't." He said harshly.

They both gave him a hard look. "Whether you like it or not, she _is_ going to be living here. The least you can do is try to get along with her."

"The only reason she's here is to spy on me for my brother."

"No, Sherlock, she isn't." John told him. "That may be how it started out, but that girl has nowhere else to go."

"And how is that my problem?"

"It's your _problem_ , because she is here to stay. Diane is nice, she smart, and she's probably got clearance for some pretty classified stuff, which should interest you by just that fact alone. Besides that, she had done nothing but try since she moved in, to make you like her, even just a little. Poor girl is strung out with this whole party thing, and _you_ , Sherlock, are just making it worse. She is trying, which is more than what most people give when it comes to you. Now, you are going to go up there and apologize to her. And, if by some miracle, she decides to forgive you for the comment about her past relationships, you are going to ask to escort her to the gala tomorrow night.

"Why in the world would I do that?" His thick brows scrunched up in confusion.

"Because, she's a nice girl, Sherlock. And she's our friend. Although, with your ever paranoid brain, don't see that because you think she's spying on you. Now, go." With a gesture, John pointed towards the door, a dark look in his eye that Sherlock dare not argue with.

"Fine, _fine!_ " He got up and made his way out. "But if I come downstairs with a black eye, I'm blaming you."

"I honestly wouldn't be surprised if you did."

The dark-haired man gave a scoff and started trudging up the stairs. He was halfway up when he heard music. Not the clarinet he usually heard when she was practicing. This was more upbeat, with lyrics. Padding up the stairs, quietly as possible, he saw that her door was standing partially open, though he couldn't see inside because of the small hallway that led into the room. As Sherlock got closer, he could hear what sounded like huffing. Luckily, her door was well maintenance, so it didn't squeak when he nudged it open slowly. The sound he was hearing was Diane, in the middle of her floor, doing pushups in a sports bra and shorts. After a moment, she flopped down and stuck her feet under the bed, using it as a lever. She did a sit up, twisted to touch the floor with her elbows on each side, then did it again. He watched on as she finished up her set and stood to start stretching. It was fascinating to watch her twist and bend. Especially when she started bending backwards and touched her hands to the ground behind her, creating a bridge with her body. She started breathing a bit hard, although that might have had something to do with the way her breasts were held tightly against her chest, but still falling towards her neck. Her eyes opened after she had settled into place, only to be drawn by the man standing in her doorway.

The thump that resounded when she hit the floor made him wince. "Are you alright?"

"Fine, fine. I'm fine." Diane laid there for a moment, gathering herself. Her legs were still in the shape of a W from where she landed. "What the hell do you want?" With a grunt, she shoved herself up. "And why were just standing there watching me?"

He made a face, "Which would you like me to answer first?"

"Oh, shut up." She grabbed a water bottle that sat on her dresser and took a swig from it.

"I can't very well answer you at all if I shut up."

"Mr. Holmes," she warned.

"Right, sorry." His mouth clenched up in an attempt to look sheepish.

"Did the great Sherlock Holmes just apologize?" She asked, as if it were the strangest thing in the world.

With a sigh, he responded slowly. "Yes. I, erm..." He cleared his throat. "It has been brought to my attention that what I said may not have been...appropriate, given the situation."

"And what situation would that be, Mr. Holmes?"

The detective seemed to be slightly fidgety, like he couldn't hold still, and he was looking everywhere but at her. "Our. I meant _our_ situation. The whole, you know, sharing a flat, thing... I was...out of line, and I apologize for my behavior." Now he was looking at his shoes. For a moment neither said anything. Finally, Sherlock raised his eyes to hers.

She had been waiting for him to look at her. "I know you're not actually sorry." He started stuttering, trying to come up with a valid response, to which she just shook her head. "I know how you are by now, Mr. Holmes. I shouldn't have let it get to me like that. The stress, I suppose. It's been getting to me. Normally, I probably would have just made some witty retort back at you that you would have then insulted, then we'd all have a laugh, and go back to ignoring one another." She shrugged. "This thing tomorrow has just...thrown me through a loop. I've never been expected to plan, coordinate, _and_ enjoy something like this."

"I'm sure you'll do splendidly. After all, if you can deal with arguably the two most impossible men on the face of the earth, you can manage a little party."

Diane narrowed her eyes at him. "Why are you being nice to me?"

"John threatened me."

"Ah. Well, thank you for the apology. If you don't mind, I'd like to get ready for bed now." When he didn't leave, she continued, " _Without_ someone watching me. I need my sleep for tomorrow, for promises to be _very_ long."

"Right, that actually brings me to something else I was suppose to ask you."

"What now, Mr. Holmes? I'm really very tired."

"Yes, but...John and Mary insisted that...um..."

Diane crossed her arms, an eyebrow raised, waiting for him to finish. "Insisted that you...what?"

"Ahem...that I..." After that, he mumbled something incoherent that she didn't understand.

"Sorry, what was that?"

He sighed, and with a groan, shook his head. "Nevermind. It's not important. As you said, it is rather late, and you have a long day tomorrow. Goodnight."

The departure of Sherlock was so hurried and swift, that Diane for a moment didn't realize he was gone. It wasn't until she heard the door to the flat hit its frame that she woke up from the daze she had been in.

"What the hell?"

)0(

"Ok, gala officially begins at 7 o'clock, but there will be people there at least half an hour early, so your men really need to be ready by 6." Diane was darting around the living room of 221B, jabbering into her phone. "Yes, I will be there before that. Yes, Jerald, I will make sure the waitstaff has the full itinerary. Look, let me worry about all that, you just make sure that security is tight. You know how people are." She tapped the end call button rather hard. With a loud sigh, she flopped onto the couch next to Mrs. Hudson. "Oh, the gala hasn't even started and it's already a nightmare!"

"Whatever is the matter, dear?"

"Jerald, head of security," she waved her phone. "He doesn't think I know what I'm doing. Keeps second guessing everything I say."

Just then, Sherlock came swooping in, red dressing gown swirling around him as he spun and sat in his chair. "Considering that you are very young, and previously untried with an event as big as this, it's not really all that surprising."

"Yes, thank you, Mr. Holmes." Diane was rubbing her temples. She would have to find some ibuprofen or advil. _I wonder if there's some in the medicine cabinet?_

"Why do you keep calling me that?"

Through the headache that was forming, Diane noticed that he was staring at her, waiting for a reply. "It's just a habit. You _are_ my boss's brother."

"So?"

"So, it's only respectful for me to call you Mr. Holmes." Before he could start pouting again, her phone decided to ring again. "Laura! Please tell me you have good news?" Whatever was being said on the other end of the line was most certainly the opposite, if Diane's face was anything to go by. "What?! What do you mean they didn't show up? No, no, let me handle it. I'll call them and get it all sorted out." The rest of the conversation was drowned out as she left the room to go upstairs.

"Poor dear," Mrs. Hudson sighed. "Your brother better be paying her well. She's worth more than just a secretary. So, I heard you're taking her to the party tonight."

"No." He said simply.

"What? I thought John said-"

"No, I decided against it. Given our already precarious relationship, I highly doubt she would have been very appreciative of it."

"Well, you never know. She might have said yes."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Don't you have some baking to do or something."

"No, not really. Personally, I think she likes you. If you'd just give her a chance, maybe-"

"Tea, Mrs. Hudson! Tea and biscuits!"

With a start, she shot up off of the couch and made her way to the door. "I really do need to have a talk with your mother, Sherlock." Once again, he was alone. Just how he liked it...

)0(

Diane had just finished up with another little issue that had come up, when she looked at her phone and realized that she had only two hours until she had to be at the venue. "Shit." She ran to her dresser to get her toiletries, then downstairs to the bathroom. The door was locked. "Mr. Holmes? If you wouldn't mind hurrying it up a bit, I need to get a shower." There was no response from inside. "Mr. Holmes?" Knocking on the door did nothing to coax a response. "Mr. Holmes, are you in there?" With her ear to the door, she could almost hear him moving around, and the light under the door showed that he was standing right at the door. Diane groaned and went around into his room, only to find the other door shut tightly as well. "Damn it. Seriously?" She started banging on the door, clearly being able to see him on the other side. "I know you're in there. Please, I really need to start getting ready. Mr. Holmes?" She could see the pale of his face turn towards her over the distorted dark of his hair and clothes. Diane sighed. "Sherlock?" She said quietly.

She almost fell forward when the door swung open, revealing a rather pleased looking man. "Well, it's about time."

"Really? You went through all of that just so that I would call you by your given name?"

"Of course." He answered smugly.

"Yes, well, you've had your fun. Now, if you please, I really have to get a shower." Trying to slid past him, Diane got caught between the man and the door. He was staring down at her, intentionally blocking her way. "Please move." He didn't. Just raised an eyebrow at her with a small smile. Diane sighed. "Please move, _Sherlock_."

"There. That wasn't so hard, was it?" He asked as he backed up a bit to let her through.

Stopping for a moment, she looked at him and said, "You have no idea." And then slammed the door on him. Damn that mad man and his infernal meddling. Not bothering to block the door, knowing he'd only find a way to get in anyway, Diane turned on the water and stripped while waiting for it to heat up. "Alrighty, what do I need? What do I need?" She muttered to herself. "Let's see...mmh, good shampoo, conditioner. Face wash...maybe the sugar scrub. Mmh, scrub after shave. Yeah, that sounds about right."

What Diane didn't know, was that Sherlock was still standing in his room, listening to everything she said. _Women_ , he thought to himself. _So overly complicated with their beauty regimes._ With a huff, he made his way out to the kitchen to start up an experiment. Of course, he knew she'd give him hell for messing up her cleaning.

)0(

Shaved, scrubbed, and slathered up in softening stuff, Diane was now upstairs in her room standing in her underwear and robe, with her hair in a braided bun while she did make-up. Diane was leaned forward over her dresser to apply her mascara, trying to be careful not to poke herself in the eye, as she actually often did. Once satisfied that it was done, she settled back, only to jump when the person standing in the doorway spoke.

"Are you really wearing your hair like that?" Sherlock smirked. Groaning, Diane grabbed her blush and tried to ignore him. "Wrong color."

She looked at him in disbelief. "And what do you know about make-up?"

"You'd be surprised." Pushing off the wall, he strode forward and looked over the tiny assortment of powders and creams littered over her counter. He took a moment, occasionally picking one up and holding it against her face, only to put it down and continue comparing. Until he was down to two. "Hmm...this one...or this one?" The two colors could not have been more different. One was pale pink, Glow by Elf. The other was a dark swirl, Dusk by Mary Kay. "This might be a bit easier if I knew what color your dress was, since you've taken such _good_ care to make sure I didn't see it."

"I don't do pink." She tried to shove his hand away.

"Yes, perhaps. However, difference in lighting, atmosphere, and clothing can change what works with your skin tone." He thought for a few seconds and then set the lighter blush down. "Even so, that's more of a summer outing color, I think. This one would probably be better for a evening formal."

Sherlock set the container in her hand and took a step back. Diane stared at him. "Why are you _trying_ to help me?" She asked with narrowed eyes.

He shrugged. "A difference of view might surely help for making sure you look...as well as you can."

"Yes, but, why?"

Sherlock made an annoyed sound, throwing his hands up. "What does it matter why? Shouldn't you be grateful that I'm helping you at all?"

"That's not how it works, Mr. Holmes." She opened up the blush and tapped out her brush.

"Why are we back to that?"

Diane glanced at him in her mirror, realizing with a jerk that _his_ gaze had traveled to her legs. "If you're quite finished oggling..." She almost laughed when he rolled his eyes.

"Just answer the question."

She threw her head back with a sigh. "We are back to that because you are _still_ my employer's brother, and at the moment, a job for me. And as such, it is only proper that you and I remain as such."

"Yes, but you are living under the same roof, I don't see the point." He started towards her bed, making to flop down on it.

Diane spun on her heel and pointing her finger at the detective. "Don't you even think about it!" The tone of her voice made him stop. "Remember what happened the last time you sat down there?" Once convinced that he wouldn't do it, she started lining her lips with a pencil. "Now, if you don't mind, I'm in a hurry, I have to be ready by the time the car gets here."

"Oh, you have plenty of time. Now, I thought perhaps it would be good for me to join you."

"In that case, then you better go get ready, because I have less than an hour before I have to leave."

"I'm sure Mycroft will be fine until you get there. The party staff may be imbeciles, but they know well enough to follow direc-"

"Mr. Holmes!" She slammed down the lipstick brush she had been using. "I am very busy at the moment, and I do not have time to sit and chat. Because, unlike everyone else who will be there, I have to actually do some work. I won't have time for drinking and conversing, and dancing the night away. I have to work. Now, if you don't mind, _go. Away!_ " She waited until she heard him exit the room before sighing and going back to finishing up her make-up.

)0(

Oh, this was a complete nightmare. Even after the (semi-threatening) phone call to the catering company, they were still late. Sure, the cooks could have handled it, but she had hired a caterer to take some of the rush off them for the party. Sure, there would be an actual dinner, which is what they needed to be really worried about. Over a hundred guests to feed, and only so much time to cook everything. On top of that, two of the waiters hadn't shown up, and security had already found a group of kids trying to sneak in. She had had a _very_ thorough talk with them while they waited for the police to come pick them up and take them back to their homes. At the moment, Diane was busy rushing around the kitchen pointing out this and that that needed to be done and/or fixed before dinner started. Just as she was starting to get really anxious, Jerald ran up to her.

"Caterer's here."

"Oh, thank God!" Diane said. "Show them in, ask Marline to direct them. Lainey?!" She shouted to the head chef. "Is the first course going to be finished in time?"

"Yes, miss. Should be ready in half an hour."

"Thank you. Jerald, anymore problems so far?"

"None. But, the first cars have started making their way down here, so you might want to get Mr. Holmes down here quickly."

"Right, thanks. Can you all handle things down here?"

Jerald patted her arm, "We've got this. Go get the boss," he gently pushed her towards the door. She waved at him and ran down the halls.

Mycroft was in his office, taking care of a few last minute things. Luckily, he was already dressed. Looking up when he heard the door open, he smiled at Diane. "Ah, my dear. Everything alright? No problems, I trust?"

"Nothing I couldn't handle, sir."

The tall man raised a brow at her as he stood. "Are you alright? You look a bit flustered." In truth, she did. Despite her make-up, her face was rather red, a mix of running around shouting orders and standing in the kitchen. Her hair was starting to come loose from it's bun, creating flyaways.

"Fine. But, you should probably get downstairs."

"Yes, thank you, Diane. I think I should. And you should get ready." Diane followed him out of the office.

"I've got some more things I need to do, but-"

"No 'but's, Diane." Mycroft crossed the room to the closet, and pulled out the still covered dress. "We have guests to attend to. And since my imbecil of a baby brother neglected to offer, I would be honored if you would attend the party."

She blinked at him, confused, but took the dress anyway. Diane had started towards the bathroom, but stopped. "Sir, what do you mean? 'Since he neglected to offer'? Surely-"

"Don't worry about that now, my dear. Go get dressed. I shall wait here." With that, he sat down quite poshly on the settee. "Well, go on. And do take your hair products. Can't have you looking like a milkmaid."

Diane was about to respond, but thought better of it. Instead, she grabbed her purse and went into the bathroom. It was a nice one, considering it was in a government building. She hung the dress on the back of the door and set her purse down so she could get undressed. Starting out, she had been wearing a dress shirt and slacks, with some black flats to allow her to run around easily. That was why she had put her hair up the way she had. Of course, she didn't intend to actually go to the gala. Her purse contained the bra she had brought with her, as the one she was currently wearing could have been seen with her dress, as well as her heels and hairspray. Standing in her underwear, she touched up her make-up, then took the dress out of the bag and slipped it on. It felt wonderful on her skin. It wasn't quite silky, but it wasn't rough either. Paired with the strapless bra that was usually the bane of her existence, it looked better than it had in the dressing room. With a small flourish, Diane pulled her braid loose and let it hang down her back before undoing it.

She had always liked the way that her hair looked after she braided it wet. Usually, she couldn't get it to hold a curl for the life of her. But, the braid made it a little more wavy than normal, and she could work with that. Taking out a wide-tooth comb and some hairspray, she brushed and teased until it looked halfway decent. A thin chain with a small tear-drop opal hung at the top of her breasts, a rhinestone bracelet on her wrist, and her usual rings adorned her fingers. The last thing was her shoes, which were a pair of quite comfortable black pumps with ankle-straps that had gold buckles. Mary was right, the designs on her nails matched quite well indeed. With one final primp, she packed up her things and opened the door. Mycroft was still sitting there, as promised, and looked up when the door opened.

"Don't you look lovely." He said, getting up. "By the way, how did you _ever_ managed to sleep on that thing? It's quite uncomfortable."

Diane's cheeks darkened. "I made do with what I had. Do you really think it looks alright?" She started smoothing down any wrinkles in the fabric.

"I think you look absolutely stunning, my dear. Now," he held out his arm, "shall we?" With a shy smile, she set her things back under the desk and slid her hand into the crook of his elbow.

)0(

"Why exactly am I here, John?" Sherlock droned. He had already deduced everything about all the people in the room, and none of them were exactly what he would call interesting.

"Because, Sherlock, you have managed to evade every one of your brother's parties that you have been invited to. And, if Mary and I have to be here, so do you. Knowing you, you'll have probably blown up the flat by the time we got home. Besides, Diane's going to be here any moment."

"So? This is boring. Why do you always drag me to the boring things?"

John sighed. "Not everything has to involve a murder for it to be fun." He was right about to say something else when Mary elbowed him in the ribs. "Ow! What was that for?" She didn't answer, so he followed her gaze to the staircase behind Sherlock. "Wow," he breathed.

"What? What are you both goggling at?" He turned around for a moment to try to see, and did a double take. _Who the hell was Mycroft standing with up there_? In fact, it seemed that many people in the room were wondering the same thing. A hush had fallen over everyone in the foyer, waiting for their host to speak.

"Lady and gentlemen, honored guests. I thank you ever so humbly for joining me tonight. If you will please follow these gentlemen into the ballroom, we have live music and drinks. Dinner should be announced soon. Until then," he raised his arms in greeting. "Please, enjoy." The murmurs resumed again as everyone else started filing into the next room. Mycroft said something to the woman next to him, she nodded, and then he made his way down the stairs. She stayed where she was, taking a phone out of her clutch to check something. "Ah, Dr. Watson, Mary. Wonderful to have you." He shook hands with them and then turned to Sherlock. "Glad to see you could make it, little brother."

"Didn't have much of a choice, did I?"

"Of course you did."

With a jerk of his chin, the detective motioned to the woman now speaking to someone on the device in her hand. "Who is that? I quite thought women bored you, brother mine."

All three of them looked at him as if he'd grown a second head. "Yes, well, if you'll excuse me, I have some more guests to greet." And he slid past them.

The woman in question was now making her way down the stairs. The slit in her dress made the flowing skirt trailing behind her open to expose her legs every time she stepped, and the waist (combined with the heels she was wearing) accentuated the way her hips swung when she did. Instead of moving past them, she walked right up to them, her bosom emphasized rather nicely with the V-neckline. Sherlock couldn't have been more surprised when she addressed them. "John, Mary. Enjoying the party so far?" He knew that voice, but the woman before him was almost a stranger. Then his brain started picking out bits of her features that he recognized.

"Oh, yes. We were just speaking to Mycroft." John grinned. "Aren't you a sight. I do rather believe that you took some of Mycroft's attention."

Mary, moved forward and hugged her. "You look beautiful. That really was the best dress."

Diane looked down at herself, "Yes, I suppose it was, wasn't it? Anyway, why don't we go in? There are plenty of people to talk to, I'm sure." She started to go, then realized that Sherlock seemed to be frozen in his spot. "Are you alright?" She asked. When he didn't answer, she moved forward to touch his arm, "Mr. Holmes, are you-"

"Fine, I'm fine, thank you for asking. Yes, we should go in."

John called after his friend. "Sherlock!" The sleuth stopped and turned, a question on his face. "Aren't you forgetting something?"

"Not...that I'm aware of?" Sherlock tilted his head, his face still confused.

Gesturing towards the woman beside him, he explained. "Diane. We agreed, remember. You said you would ask to escort her."

The woman in question shook her head. "I beg your pardon?"

"Yes, well it would seem that I...neglected to mention it." He then tried to make his escape once again.

"Oh, no you don't." Mary stopped him by grabbing hold of his arm, and steered him back towards the other two. "You said you would, and you are going to. It's not proper for a lady to attend a party unescorted."

"Since when does that apply to the help?" Diane scoffed.

A gentle hand was placed on her hand. "You are so much more than just the help, Annie. Sherlock promised. Now, be a gentleman and escort her." Mary walked off with her fiance, a proud look thrown back over her shoulder. Neither one said anything for a few moments.

"Well, it would appear," he started, his voice low so that the rest of the guests milling about didn't hear, "That they have thrown us into the lion's den without so much as a stick."

Diane chuckled. "Never fear, Mr. Holmes." She put her hand through his elbow. "It happens, that I know a bit about taming lions."

The two of them shared an amused smile. "It would seem so. Shall we?"

She bowed her head as if to say, ' _Lead the way._ '


	11. Chapter 11

_**Chapter Eleven~ True Intentions**_

Sherlock was somewhat surprised when the woman on his arm did not move away from him after they entered the ballroom. And after about half an hour, in fact, he was even more surprised to realize he didn't mind it all that much. As a waiter passed by them, Diane snagged two champagne flutes and passed one to the man beside her. He was watching the way she interacted, the way her dress draped over her frame. He had to admit, she was not an unattractive woman. In truth, compared to the other women here (most painfully thin in an attempt to be fashionable, others augmented to the point that even John could have known that they had surgery done) everything about her was natural. From the curve of her breast under the material, to the way her waist draped into her hips. He also noticed that her hair seemed much lighter than the last time he had seen it even a little bit down. She didn't like to wear her hair down most of the time, as it got in the way, but he should have at least realized what color it really was. The only explanation was that she had temporarily dyed her hair, for whatever reason.

They passed through the dense crowd of bodies, stopping here and there to talk to people, most of which only did so to figure out who the woman who seemed to be the special guest of the Holmes brothers. She gave him a charming smile. "So, what do you think so far?" She raised the glass to her lips. In the month she had known him, he had never seen him in a black shirt. It suited him nicely, if she were honest.

"About what?" Diane chuckled, but just continued to watch him. Sherlock gave a sigh. "Everyone in this room is either participating in an illicit relationship outside their marriage, or facing some kind of financial problem that they are trying to hide by coming here in their finest attire. Too easy."

"Try not to insult too many people tonight, Mr. Holmes. Your brother uses these things to raise money for different things. I do believe that tonight is about something having to do with getting better equipment for New Scotland Yard." She said simply. "So, behave a bit, would you."

He turned his face back to her, leaning closer to her so he could whisper. "And how would you suggest I behave?"

With a shrug, which lifted her breasts as she did, she said, "Just don't tell everyone their life story, and you should be fine." She patted a hand on his chest. "Now, what do you say we go and mingle a bit?"

Sherlock groaned. "Boring. I only need to be focusing on a few of the people here anyway, so there's not really any point in me talking to anyone else." When he looked back at the woman, she was giving him a perplexed look. "What?"

"What do you mean, you're having to watch certain people?"

"Well, you didn't really expect that I would be here just because my brother asked me to, did you?"

"Yes, actually, I did. Though I was hoping it wasn't the only reason." She said, face a mask of slight disappointment. "So, what could possibly bring the great Sherlock Holmes out of his reclusiveness?" She already knew the answer, but she hoped she was wrong.

"Why else? Mycroft had a case for me. Apparently, he's expecting someone to try to gatecrash. Perhaps a few somebodies." He said as he glanced around the room.

"Mr. Holmes, this party is the most secure of any in the last decade, short of anything the royal family does. I personally have overseen the security. No one is getting in this gala without express permission from Mycroft, or me." Sherlock saw the glint of some emotion flash through her eyes, changing the color of her eyes from their usual hazel to a darker green. "Now, who the could you possibly be looking for?"

"I'm afraid I can't-"

"Miss Smith?!" A man in a dark suit came running up to them. Judging from the earbud he was wearing, and the distinct bulge of a concealed weapon, he was part of the security.

"Jerald, what's going on?" She put a hand on his arm as he reached them, mostly to keep him from running over her.

"The singer you had lined up for after dinner, she hasn't shown up yet."

"What? When was she supposed to be here?"

"Fifteen minutes ago. Dinner is being announced in less than five. They were supposed to be warming up during the meal."

"Ok, it hasn't been that they're just stuck in traffic. You know how it gets this time of night. Give a few moments, I call her agent and see if I can't figure out what happened." Turning back to the man on her other side, she gaped for a few seconds. Then she smiled. "Duty calls. Told you I wouldn't have a moment's peace." With that, she handed him her glass, and left the room, digging out her mobile as she went. Standing off to the side of the foyer, out of anyone's way where they wouldn't hear her talking, she dialed the number she had saved in her phone for this exact reason. It rang out, finally stopping when the agent's voicemail answered her, prompting Diane to leave a message. "Yes, Mr. Lyal, this is Diane Smith calling on behalf of Mycroft Holmes. I was just trying to get ahold of you to inform you that your client, Rose Deima, hasn't shown up yet. I was hoping you could let me know when we can expect them, because she was scheduled to perform in less than an hour. Give me a call back when you get this. Thanks." Tapping the end button rather harshly, she rubbed her hand over her face, conscious of her make-up. At the moment, Diane was quite glad she had opted out of wearing her glasses tonight. "Damn."

"Something the matter, my dear?" Her head shot up to see Mycroft standing in the doorway.

"The performer we had scheduled for tonight hasn't shown up. And I can't get ahold of her agent." She explained quickly.

"Oh, dear. That is a dilemma. Whatever shall we do?"

"I don't know, sir. Everyone in there is expecting a live performance after dinner. But, we can't really do that without a singer, now can we? I don't think we can get anyone else on short notice...it took me three weeks to convince Rose to do this show as it is. Damn it." She ran a hand through her hair. "Maybe I can find someone."

"Diane," Mycroft stopped her. "No one is going to be able to put together a list of songs, get here, warm up, and be ready in less than an hour. Not even you can do that." They stood there, at an impasse. At least, until Mycroft seemed to have an epiphany. "Perhaps there is someone who can..."

)0(

Sherlock's sharp eyes ran over the crowd, picking out people here and there that didn't seem to fit quite right. One person in particular stood out, someone who looked far too jumpy to be at home at such a place of high standard. As he watched, the man pulled out a phone, having been startled when it, supposedly, rang. He was off in a corner by himself, talking animatedly into the mobile. Sherlock made his way through the crowd, sidling as close as possible to the man in question. Upon approaching him, the detective heard the very end of the conversation.

"-she's been held up. They won't have any choice than to put her on, if they dare. Clot-heads, don't know anything." Without any kind of goodbye, the man cut the call short and stuffed his mobile back into his pocket. It took him a whole ten seconds to realize that Sherlock was standing there. "Bloody hell! What the hell are you looking at?"

Sherlock stared at him silently, eyes darting up and down the man before him. Something about him was off. Something had happened to him recently that caused him to be upset about any- and everyone who came near him. His suit was nice, tailored to him, but it was a few months old and was starting to get too small for him around the middle. _Sedentary worker, lots of typing, probably a banker judging by the nice tux. Serial adulterer. Recently had a "serious" relationship be broken off because he was found out. Struggling for money. So, how did he manage to get into an event such as this?_ "My apologies, sir. I thought you were someone else. Please excuse me." Spinning on his heel, he left to go find Mycroft. He was distracted by a bell sounding, and one of the waitresses calling out to everyone.

"Dinner is being served, ladies and gentlemen. If you will please follow me through to the dining room. Everyone has a place, just find your place card on the plates." Nothing else to say, she turned and stepped through another door. Everyone else was making their way to follow, but he was in the one-track frame of mind. Surely this had something to do with the people Mycroft thought were out for blood.

He found him coming back into the ballroom with a very flustered Diane following after him. "Mycroft!"

"Ah, Sherlock. Do me a favor, dear brother. Take Diane to her seat for me. I have some things I need to attend to."

Sherlock stopped him with a hand on his arm. "I may have found your gate-crasher."

"Oh, I have no doubt about that. But, there's nothing we can do abut it right now, except have dinner. Off you pop." His older brother just gave his secretary a gentle push towards him, and walked away.

"What the hell was that all about?" Diane shook herself out of the stupor."

"I have no idea. So, shall we eat?" Without waiting for a response, she left him standing there.

The two of them walked into the large dining room, most of the seats already filled. John and Mary were sat farther towards the center of the table, two empty chairs on Mary's left. Since it seemed that everyone else had their seat, they made their way to those two empty seats. Sure enough, their names allotted each chair in embossed letters. Diane would be sitting between Mary and Sherlock...not exactly something she was too crazy about. At least, that's how she was thinking until the man in question pulled her chair out for her in one of the few kind gestures she'd seen from him. With a smile, she sat down and allowed him to help her scoot in, and he then took his own seat.

Once Mycroft joined them, the first course came out. It was a light French onion soup, accompanied by a nice bread that Sherlock didn't know, and didn't particularly care, because the woman beside him seemed on edge. Never in the whole time she had been staying at Baker Street, had he seen her accept so much as a small glass of sherry from Mrs. Hudson. But, now she was steadily draining the white wine that had been brought to accompany the dish. That wasn't to say that she was throwing it back the second she got the glass, but she was certainly drinking it quicker than might have been considered normal, not that anyone else was paying attention to her drinking habits. In fact, he might not have even bothered with the idea if he hadn't seen the way her hand shook as she put the soup spoon to her lips, or when she picked up her wine glass. Something was bothering her, and no one else noticed. Not even Mary, who had proved to be quite observant.

No one spoke much until the dishes were collected and the fish course was set before them. Salmon? Really? Couldn't Mycroft do any better? Looking around the giant table, he noticed the man from earlier down the table from them. He was staring in their direction. More accurately, he was staring at Diane, who had yet to look up from her plate except to speak to Mary in hushed tones. It wasn't until he saw the latter flick her eyes in his direction while talking that he realized they must have been talking about him. Whatever it was that was said, Diane turned back to her plate, cheeks slightly flushed. Whether this was from the wine, or what Mary had just said, he didn't know.

As he was wondering about this, she looked up at him, shocked that he had been staring the whole time. "Are you alright?" She asked.

"Are you?" He countered.

Straightening her back, she took another sip of wine and then cleared her throat. "yes, of course. Why wouldn't I be?"

"I have no idea." Her eyes met his for another moment, before shaking her head and going back to staring at her plate as if it were the most interesting thing in the whole place.

Dinner carried on, including a main course of a buttery filet mignon, and a decadent salad dish. Diane said nothing else to him the whole time, though she often looked at her phone under the table as if she was waiting for something. She had barely eaten anything from her plates, often leaving it more or less half finished. It turned out that desert was going to be delayed by just a few moments, much to the disappointment of Diane. Because as soon as this was announced, she jumped a little, pulling her mobile once more out. Apparently it was the news she was waiting for. She looked up toward the head of the table, towards her boss. Sherlock turned his head as well, only to spot Mycroft's phone on the table next to him, giving a little nod to his secretary. Without much more thought, Diane got up with the help of one of the people who had come to refill their glasses.

His eyes followed her as she exited the dining room through a door at the other end of the hall, where she stopped to look back at the people still sitting down. She had a slightly upset look, as if someone had eaten the food she hid in the back of the fridge. With another shake of her head, she left for good. Sherlock took his phone out and sent a message to his brother.

 _ **Your man is at the table. -SH**_

 _ **Yes, I'm well aware –MH**_

 _ **He was staring at your secretary. Just thought you'd like to know. -SH**_

 _ **I had a feeling he would be. Considering that she is why he's here. I need you to stay close to her. -MH**_

 _ **And just how do you expect me to do that? -SH**_ He was interrupted by desert finally making its appearance. A perfectly made crème brulee was set down before him, which he looked at in distaste while waiting for his brother's response. He didn't eat while on a case, but to keep up appearances, he had to eat a little. Feeling his phone buzz in his front pocket, he put down the spoon and fished it out.

 _ **After the show. -MH**_

Sherlock made a face at his brother at the head of the table, a sort of _what-the-hell-does-that-mean?_ Face. But, knowing he wouldn't get anywhere with that, he just went back to discreetly watching the man who had gotten his attention. Minutes passed by, and Diane had not returned. He was right on the verge of going to find her when his brother made the announcement for everyone to return to the ballroom. Upon reentering the large open space, he noticed that the stage had been rearranged. Once the last stragglers were standing in the room, Mycroft made his way to the microphone on the stage.

"Well, now that we are all full, I do believe it is time for the bit of entertainment I promised. However, I am sorry to say that the young lady that was supposed to be performing tonight has been called away on an urgent family matter." All around, there were sounds of disappointment. Whoever this girl was, she must have been rather popular. "Not to worry. It just so happens that we have someone else who was more than happy to help. My honored guests, might I have the pleasure of introducing to you, Miss Diane Smith." A round of applause erupted. Sherlock looked around in confusion.

Mary and John had managed to shoulder their way through the throng of people. "Did you know about this?" John asked his friend.

"No idea. I knew she was nervous about something."

Diane's eyes were darting around the room, finally stopping on her friends, and she gave them a small smile. "Um," she cleared her throat. "Hi, sorry that Rose Deima couldn't be there. I suppose it was just lucky that I know most of the songs she was going to perform for you tonight. Now, um, for those of you who don't know, Miss Deima is an up and coming cover artist. So, many of the songs she sings are pretty well known. Again, lucky for us. Now, please, enjoy." Stepping back, she grabbed the song list that the pianist was holding out for her.

Everyone else in the room had drinks. Right at this moment, Diane wished she had had at least one more glass of wine at dinner to get rid of the nerves that were making her shake. All of the songs were somewhat slow, but they had a lot of vocal changes throughout them. Turning back to the band, she signaled for them to start.

When they did, she waited for the moment that she entered...only to miss it because she froze up. Luckily for her, the band was good, and just repeated the first few bars.

 _"I heard there was a secret chord, that David played and it please the lord. But, you don't really care for music, do you? It goes like this, the fourth, the fifth, the minor fall, and the major lift, the baffled king composing hallelujah."_

Sherlock noted how her voice wavered at first. At least, until she stopped looking at the crowd and focused on the wall behind them. She had a very full voice, one that carried no matter how low she got. It helped that she seemed to be able to reach a wide range of notes, matching what the band was playing, but changing it up a little to fit her own way of singing.

 _"Your faith was strong but you needed proof, you saw her bathing on the roof. Her beauty in the moonlight overthrew you."_ Irene Adler came to mind. _"She tied you to a kitchen chair, she broke your throne, she cut your hair, and from your lips she drew a hallelujah."_

A few of the older couples in the audience had started dancing, moving slowly within their small area. Even Mary and John had started to sway, like they had the day that Diane had been playing her bass clarinet. Despite understanding music, Sherlock could not, for the life of him, understand why couples felt compelled to dance when something even remotely _romantic_ started playing.

 _"Maybe I've been here before, I know this room, I've walked this floor. I used to live alone before I knew you."_ Thoughts of how he was before John was dragged into his life by Mike Stamford. _"I've seen your flag on the marble arch, love is not a victory march, it's a cold, and it's a broken hallelujah."_

Sherlock could feel the words of the song seeping into his mind, finding their way down through his mind palace to a deep, dark place that even he didn't recognize.

 _"There was a time you let me know what's really going on below, But now you never show it to me, do you? And I remember when I moved in you; the holy dark was moving too, and every breath we drew was hallelujah."_

He remembered something about this song, the thought of it pulling at the very edges of his mind. What was it?

 _"Maybe there's a God above, and all I ever learned from love was how to shoot at someone who outdrew you...And it's not a cry you hear at night, it's not somebody who's seen the light. It's a cold and it's a broken hallelujah."_

 _"Hallelujah, Hallelujah. Hallelujah, Hallelujah."_ The last words were sung by the audience along side the woman on the stage, who seemed almost shocked at the response of the song. The crowd broke out into applause "Ahem, thank you. Thank you. Um, like I said, I'm only know most of the songs that Miss Deima was supposed to sing, and by most I mean three." There was a wave of laughter. "So, on with the show. This next song is a little less well known, but it is beautiful none the less."

 _"Hello, Darkness, my old friend. I've come to talk with you again."_ Sherlock vaguely knew this song...for no other reason than some of the younger homeless people he used in his network. Once they had made him listen to it for whatever reason, he had felt that it seemed to fit quite well to his situation. _"Because a vision softly creeping, left it's seed while I was sleeping. And the vision that was planted in my brain, still remains. Within the sound of silence."_ Everyone else seemed drawn in by the sound of her voice. Diane had gone from the higher octave that was used by the previous song, to a much deeper one.

 _"In restless dreams I walked alone. Narrow streets of cobblestone. 'Neath the halo of a street lamp, I turned my collar to the cold and damp."_ John had once gotten irritated at him because he had popped his collar...supposedly just to look cool. But then again, they lived in England, which was known, partially, because it was almost always cloudy and rainy. _"When my eyes were stabbed by the flash of a neon lamp, that split the night and touched the sound of silence."_ No one was dancing now.

 _"And in the naked light I saw ten thousand people, maybe more. People taking talking without speaking."_ To Sherlock, everyone was an open book. Every little thing about them was as easy for him to see as if they were telling him themselves. _"people hearing without listening. People writing song, that voices never shared._ " So many things that no one wanted out in the open. _"And no one dared disturb the sound of silence."_

 _"Fool, said I, you do not know. Silence like a cancer grows. Hear my words that I might teach you. Take my arms that I might reach you. But my word like silent raindrops fell. And echoed in the wells of silence."_ By now the silence in the room was palpable.

 _"And the people bowed and prayed to the neon god they made."_ It was true. In this day everyone was so absorbed by what they wanted, by what they thought they needed to make their lives better. _"And the sign flashed out it's warning. In the words that it was forming. And the sign said the words of the prophets are written on the subway walls, and tenement halls. And whispered in the sounds of silence."_

There were some in the audience, at this time, who dabbed at their eyes. To his trained eye, he could tell that some of them were going to be having a serious talk with...someone after all this. Diane's eyes widened. The silence was terrifying to her, because she wondered if maybe she should have looked up one of the other songs on the list. She took a breath to speak, but was stopped by the applause that nearly shook the room. Her eyes made their way around the room, finally landing on the trio. Mary and John were clapping madly, showing as much support as they could short of running onto the stage. "Ok, so...that was a bit heavy I suppose. How about something a little lighter. This next one is more for the younger generation, but it's fun." She took a long drink of the water that was handed to her before continuing. Sure enough, as soon as the song started, people started dancing.

 _"Got a figure like a pin-up, got a figure like a doll. Don't care if you think I'm dumb, I don't care at all."_ Now she was in the zone. She loved this song. Diane's hand traveled up and down her side as she sang. _"Candy bear, sweetie pie, wanna be adored. I'm the girl you'd die for,"_ Her pointed finger swept over the crowd. _"I'll chew you up, and I'll spit you out, cause that's what young love is all about. So, pull me close,"_ her arms made a mime of a hug, swaying back and forth, _"and kiss me hard. I'm gonna pop your bubblegum heart."_

 _"I'm miss Sugar Pink, liquor liquor lips,"_ Diane held her finger against the side of her mouth as she sang. _"Hit me with your sweet love, steal me with a kiss. I'm miss Sugar Pink, liquor liquor lips. I'm gonna be your bubblegum-"_ Instead of saying 'bitch', she simply held her hand over her mouth while the piano made a slightly louder note in it's place.

 _"Queentex, latex, I'm your wonder maid. Life gave me some lemons so I made some lemonade. Soda pop, soda pop, baby here I come. Straight to number one."_ Her Hand swirled around as it reached towards the ceiling.

 _"Oh, dear diary, I met a boy. He made my dull heart fill up with joy. Oh, dear diary, we fell apart. Welcome to the life of Electra Heart."_ A little heart bump with the beat. _"I'm miss Sugar Pink, liquor liquor lips. Hit me with your sweet love, steal me with a kiss. I'm miss Sugar Pink, liquor liquor lips, I'm gonna be your bubblegum-" Once again._

 _"I think I want your, your American tan. I think I'm gonna be my biggest fan. I'm miss Sugar Pink, liquor liquor lips. Hit me with your sweet love, steal me with a kiss. I'm miss Sugar pink liquor liquor lips, I'm gonna be your bubblegum-"_

By the time she got down from the stage, people were still going insane. For the fact that there was less than three hundred people in the room, the clapping radiated around the room and echoed. Diane was making her way towards them, people shaking her hand and patting her shoulder as she went. Eyes wide, she stepped in front of them. "So?" He saw her gulp.

Mary pulled her into a tight hug. "That was absolutely beautiful, darling! I didn't know you could sing!" She was holding her friend by the shoulders now.

"I come from a musical family," she laughed. "Oh, god, I can't believe some of the songs Rose had picked out for this!" Diane handed them the list of all the songs. In truth, Diane did know a good majority of the songs on the list, but most of them were nowhere near appropriate for a formal setting such as this. As it was, she had to be careful which ones she had chosen to sing. "I was going to try to sing some other things, but Mycroft told me the damn band had been practicing _these_ songs." She hissed. By now, the band was back to playing mellow music for background noise. "I got really lucky with 'Hallelujah'. It was the only one not on the list, but the band knew it anyway because it's apparently a commonly requested song." She was rambling.

"Well, I think, given the circumstances," John put a hand on her shoulder. "You did amazing. Mycroft better pay you extra for tonight."

"Oh, don't worry, John, I fully intend to." The man in question seemingly popped out of nowhere. "Very well done, Diane. Lovely. And it was nice that you ended with a rather fast song, though it wasn't quite appropriate for the event."

"I'm sorry, sir."

"It's quite alright. You worked with what you were given, and that in and of itself is a miracle. Now, for the rest of-"

"What about the man?" Sherlock spoke for the first time sense Diane had joined them.

Diane looked between the two Holmes brothers. "What man?"

"Apparently there is a man here at the gala that has taken an interest in you. My dear brother here had me on the lookout for anything that look suspicious. When I pointed him out, he so kindly informed me that the man was here for you."

Her eyes widened, this time in worry. "Sir, what's going on?"

"Unfortunately, my dear, I do believe you are about to find out."

Before she could question him further, another voice joined the party. "So, this is what you're doing now, eh?" Diane spun on her heel, only to take a step back at the sight of the person in front of her, effectively bumping into Sherlock. Instead of pushing her away, he simply helped her right herself while her attention was focused.

"What are you doing here, Jay?"

"I'm just here for a bit of a party, love." He gave her a sly smile. "Love the dress, by the way. Very fetching." Jay's eyes leered up and down her body, lingering on her breasts. "Very nice indeed."

Out of instinct born of living with John for the past few years, Sherlock gently guided Diane behind him enough that she could still she Jay, but he couldn't get to her if he tried anything.

"Jay?" Mary asked. "Jay as in-"

"My ex, yes." Diane hissed. "You were not on the guest list. How the _hell_ did you get in here?"

"Oh, well, you see, that would be the courtesy of my date. Well, more like my date's father." A blonde headed woman sidled up to him, putting her arm around his waist. "You remember Bonnie, right?"

Raising her chin at the pair, she said, "How could I forget? Hello, Bonnie."

"Diane. Nice to see you've managed to move on from secretary to stage whore."

"Says the woman who knowingly slept with an engaged man. At least I can keep it in my pants and got a job without _dear old daddy_." She spat. This was a new side to the brunette that Mary, John and Sherlock had never seen. Sure, there had been spats between her and Sherlock, threats even, but never anything like this. Even when she was _really_ mad at the man, there was never a fire in her eyes, and venom on her tongue like this.

"No, you only got your job because the old fart took a fancy to you. How long do you think that will last when he realizes that you don't put out?" The last part was whispered like it was some big secret. "You've seen what happens to a man when he doesn't get what he wants...his attention drifts."

"Right," Diane drawled. "And how long do you think it'll be before Joy here moves on to a better looking gal with better tits than you?" That seemed to hit the spot on both of them. Bonnie tried to launch herself at Diane, dragging Jay with her. Sherlock managed to hold her back, as Jay was pulling on her as well. Diane didn't say anything else.

But, Jay wasn't done. "Oh, so what? Now you got your boss _and_ a boyfriend wrapped up in that loose little cat of yours, eh?"

Mycroft stepped forward. "I would thank you not to speak to my employee in such a manner. And, I will have you know, that in the time that Diane has been in my service, never once has she offered to, or been made to do any sort of illicit activity that would have had an impact on the marriage that the two of you were supposed to be initiating. In fact, she never spoke ill of you in any way shape or form, even after you had attacked her. I do believe she even attempted to make sure you were not taken to court for assault. You clearly did not deserve her."

"Piss off, old man." Jay spat.

This time, it was Sherlock that pushed forward. "It was you who came to this event with the express purpose of hounding Diane, not the other way around. Somehow, you knew that she was going to be here, and you managed to deter the original singer so that she would be forced to do something she was clearly uncomfortable doing. And you," he pointed to Bonnie, "Should probably find a better bedmate. Not even a month after breaking it off with her, and he's already found a second girlfriend?"

The two of them stood in shocked silence. Bonnie, slowly, turned to face Jay, "It's not true, is it, Jay?"

"Of course it is!" Diane shoved forward. "Did you really believe he wouldn't cheat on you when he already cheated _with_ you? You really thick, Bon." Again, the blonde threw a punch at Diane, this time catching her in the eyebrow. Mycroft called security as Sherlock pulled the brunette woman towards the hallway, away from prying eyes, and sat her down on a chair just around the corner. Facing the two of them, she told Sherlock, "I swear to god, I am so done with them. Forget letting this shit slide, I am taking his ass to court, and her's along with him."

"Probably would have been the right thing to do in the first place, and no would blame you if you sued the both of them. As I understand it, infidelity is as good a reason as any to do so. Now, stand still. You're bleeding."

His words made her pause. "What?" Her hand reached up to the spot where she had been hit, coming away red. At the same time, Sherlock pulled his handkerchief out of his breast pocket. "Oh, god. I didn't even-"

"Adrenaline will do that." When he pressed the material to the small cut, she hissed. "Sorry. At least it doesn't look like it will need stitches. One less thing to worry about. It still might leave a bruise though."

Taking the little square of cloth, she sat back with her lips pressed together. "Go figure."

"What an eventful month you've had."

"What do you mean?" She asked, watching the man kneeling before her.

"Well, first, you found out your fiance was cheating on you, he beat you, you moved out, found your way to Baker Street thanks to my meddling brother. Then, you've been run off your feet trying to put together this whole thing, which by the way, very well done. And now all this. It's a wonder you haven't passed out from exhaustion. And before you ask, no, I am not kidding. John keeps telling that I need to...appreciate people more."

"Even when you think they're basically goldfish compared to you?" She joked with a raised eyebrow.

"Yes," he sounded exasperated, "Even then. Though, I find that some people are not as much of idiots as I originally thought they were." Diane smiled a bit. "Although there are those that still make me feel like my brain is being sent through a cheese grater." Both of them started laughing, at least until Diane winced. "Are you alright?"

"Fine, laughing put some blood pressure on the cut." She made a face. "Lord, just imagine what people are going to think when I come into work with yet another injury. They're going to start talking."

"Let them talk." Sherlock told her. "It doesn't matter what other people think of you."

"Coming from the man who literally doesn't care what _anyone_ thinks of him."

He shrugged. "I care what very few people think of me, that's a bit different from not caring what anyone thinks."

"Diane!" The other three came around the corner. "Are you alright?" Mary all but shoved Sherlock out of the way.

"I'm fine. Her ring must have caught my eyebrow. It's nothing, I promise."

"You let me be the judge of that." John pulled the handkerchief away from the cut, causing her to make a pained noise when already dried blood pulled against her skin. "Well, it isn't deep, luckily. Just keep some antibiotic ointment and a plaster on it and it should heal up quickly enough. "

"Thank goodness." Mycroft smiled. "I do believe you've had more than enough excitement for the evening. Sherlock, would you mind terribly to help Diane back to Baker Street?"

"I _would_ mind, but as I was about to leave anyway, I suppose we can share a cab."

)0(

Half an hour later, Sherlock got out of the taxi in front of 221B, turning to help Diane out so she didn't end up tearing her dress trying to do so on her own. He paid the cabbie and went to unlock the front door. Once the two of them were inside, Diane sat down on the step with a sigh.

"These bloody shoes," she muttered to herself, undoing the ankle straps and pulling them off one at a time. "Oh, that's better. I am so glad tomorrow is Sunday." With a shake of her now flat hair, she hauled herself up and started up the stairs.

"Are you sure you're alright?" Sherlock called up to her as she was ahead of him.

"I'm fine. It's not like I've got a concussion. If that were the case, then you could worry. It's just a cut. I'll put a band-aid on it and it'll be right as rain."

"Right, well, I'm sure Mycroft will have some news on those two by the time you go in on Monday." By now, they were standing inside the flat, her lingering at the door, him hanging up his coat and going to sit beside the fireplace. "If you really want to take them to court, that it. Shouldn't be a problem."

"Yeah," she rubbed a hand over her face. "I'm gonna go change, I'll be back down in a moment to wash my face." He answered with a non committal sound, so she just went upstairs. She was so tired, so much so that she was considering just going to bed with her make-up on and contacts in. But, Diane knew that was a bad idea. The last time she had done that, her eyes had gotten infected and swelled shut for two days. Up in her room, she shimmied out of the dress, hung it up, and then changed out of her nice underwear, opting for a pair of comfy cotton panties and a sports bra. As a busty girl, if she wasn't in bed asleep, she had to wear a bra of some sort.

Thinking on that as she pulled a pair of flannel sleep pants and a tank top out of the drawers, she had always been a little jealous of small-chested women. They could wear strapless dresses, or no bra under a thick sweater and get away with it. Not her. She had tried it once while in college in the States, only for it to be pointed out to her by every one of her friends. She assumed the only reason more people hadn't said anything was because she was one of those people that you _just_ didn't talk to unless you already knew them. To be fair, she was also sick that day, and hadn't felt like dealing with underwire. A mistake on her part, as her back was killing her by the end of the day, and the underboob sweat was unreal.

Grabbing her face wash and her toothbrush, Diane made her way back downstairs. Sherlock was still sitting in his chair. Knowing him, he probably wouldn't go to bed until late into the night, disappearing into his mind palace for hours. When she had first learned about the mind palace, the thought it was a bit pretentious. But, it was Sherlock. She made quick work of getting cleaned up and walked back into the living room. This time when she came in, he looked up at her.

"Going to bed already?"

She chuckled. "Yeah, it's late. And like you said, I've been running almost nonstop the last few weeks. I think it's time for a nice long siesta, don't you?"

"I suppose. I don't sleep much when I'm working."

"What could you possibly be working on right this minute? You know what?" She stopped him with a hand up. "I don't want to know. Anyway." Walking over to him to pat his shoulder, she said, "Goodnight, Sherlock. And thanks for helping me earlier." Leaning down, Diane placed a quick, barely there peck on his cheek, then smiled and went back upstairs.

 _ **A/N: And here ya go, folks! Just over 7000 words, I am so proud of myself. Yeah, I know a good portion of that was song lyrics. But, I had these songs stuck in my head for a while, and I love a good music scene. It should also be noted that my stories usually just kind of happen as I'm writing, so things tend to bunny trail. In order from start to finish, they were 'Hallelujah' which I'm sure everyone knows, 'Sound of Silence' by Disturbed, and 'Bubblegum Bitch' by Marina and the Diamonds. Also, is this the first stirrings of the romance, you've all been hoping for? Maybe.**_

 _ **Read, review, drop me a line. I will get the next chapter up as fast as possible. Until then, ta-ta.**_

 _ **AcaciaDawn105**_


	12. Chapter 12

_**Chapter Twelve~ Devil's In The Details**_

Sherlock was still up when John and Mary arrived back at Baker Street, having been going over everything that he remembered from the gala, beginning to end. There were things that he stowed away in his mind palace for later, important detail that could mean the difference between something happening to the woman that now slept above his head, and him making sure she was safe.

"Annie already in bed?" Mary perched herself on the arm of John's chair, where he had just sat down.

"Yes."

"Oh, well, I suppose she rather deserves it, after the night she's just had." She shrugged. "God, I can't believe her ex would do something like that! The nerve of him."

"Indeed. Now, the question is..." Sherlock leaned towards the two of them, "How did he do it?"

John's brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"

"I heard him talking to someone on the phone about having deterred the woman that was _supposed_ to sing. How he managed to get into the gala at all is a bit of a mystery."

"But, didn't he say something about Bonnie's...father getting them in?"

"Yes, but even he shouldn't have been able to get an invitation. This was supposed to be a high level charity event of some sort. Bonedella Morris, better known as Bonnie, is the daughter of a low level bank official. He got her the job at the Bank of London, where she works as a clerk. That's how she and Jay Doran met, apparently, same office."

"So, there was really no reason for them to be there at all." John finished for them. "Well, then how the hell did they get in?"

"No idea." Sherlock steepled his long fingers against his lips. "What I do know, is that Miss Morris has a history of violent tendencies. Most of it seems to have been swept under the rug. Lucky for us, Mycroft hasn't changed his password since the last time I had to dig up some information."

"And you've done all this in the..." Checking his watch, John continued, "The half hour since you left the party?"

The detective looked at his friend, "Oh, John, how you underestimate me."

"You really should be used to all this by now." Mary whispered to her fiance.

"Yeah, yeah. So, what have you managed to find?"

"Fights, pranks that went a bit too far, multiple underage drunk driving incidents. She was quite the party animal, as some would say. She once got into a physical altercation with another woman whom she thought was trying to chat up her boyfriend at the time. Although to be fair, she probably was."

"Christ, and Diane was friends with this woman?"

"Mmm, I wouldn't say friends."

"Of course you wouldn't, Sherlock." John gave his friend a pointed look.

"They worked at the same bar as waitresses. I suppose they may have...bonded. When Bonnie started working at the Bank, she met Diane's ex. Though I would have thought she'd have snapped him up, apparently she already had a boyfriend and proceeded the usual method of trying to set him up with her _friend_ ," he spat as if the word left a bad taste in his mouth. "Things took off from there. From what I could tell, the two of them had been seeing each other on the side for at least the last year."

"That long?" Mary gasped. "That was before he and Diane got engaged. The bastard."

"Yes, it's a wonder she didn't see it sooner. I mean the signs were all there if she had just opened her eyes and..." In that moment, as the words left his mouth, that he looked up and realized that Diane was standing in the doorway, lips set in a hard line, hands clenched at her sides. Seeing that he was distracted, the other two turned around and saw her as well. "...observed."

No one said anything for a moment. Sherlock's brain whirred through any and everything he could say to make it sound less harsh than it had. Mary and John looked between the two, seeing the fight that was brewing. The blonde woman stood to go to her friend, "Annie, dear. Maybe we should-"

She yanked herself away, back towards the stairs. "Thank you, Mr. Holmes." The man winced at the use of his last name. "For letting me know just how blind I was in my previous relationship. I was only coming down to offer to make some tea before I went to sleep, but I apologize if my lack of _observation_ was a bit grating on your brilliant mind. Perhaps, one day, I could learn how to better spot a complete and utter assholefrom the great _Sherlock Holmes._ " Diane spat, before turning on her heel and marching back up the way she came. Mary turned back to them, then gave an irritated huff and ran up after her friend.

Sherlock looked over at the blond man before him. "Not good?" He asked tentatively.

"A _bit_ not good, yes, Sherlock." The other man sighed and ran a hand over his face. "And just when she was starting to like you."

This made him pause. "I suppose I should probably apologize again."

Mary stomped back into the room. "Not tonight, you won't. She's locked the door, won't let me in." From upstairs, they could hear _Phantom of the Opera_ blaring in Diane's room. "You better hope she's as good a person as I think she is. Because otherwise, you might just end up getting punched. And quite frankly, I wouldn't blame her."

"I don't see why." His eyes traveled to the ceiling, as if he could see what the woman above him was doing in that moment, or maybe if something up there could give him the answers. People were so tedious to deal with sometimes.

"That's the point, Sherlock!" John told him angrily. "You don't see why what you said upset her. You don't understand what it is to be a normal human being."

"Ugh, _normal_."

"Shut up." Closing his eyes, John breathed in an attempt not to hit his best friend. "Just shut up and listen. She has had a rough enough time tonight, with her ex showing up and ruining probably one of the best moments of her adult life. She has already been more than a little hurt, and _you_ , you bloody idiot, were the one that tried to help her. _You_ were the one that put yourself between her and those two, and _you_ were the one that took her away from a painful moment to make sure she was alright. Now, I don't know why, but she has been trying so very hard to make her presence here as unimpeding as possible for you. She cooks, she cleans, she attempts to make friendly conversation. And _that_ , just then, that comment probably made her feel like you think her taste in men, or people in general, is so skewed, that she stayed with the man that was cheating on her. Just so you know, Sherlock, sometimes people _do_ see things, but choose to ignore them when they love the person. So, get your head out of your arse, and make it better!" He finished.

And Sherlock sat there like a child being chastised at school. How was he supposed to know how to deal with an upset woman? It wasn't as if he had all that much experience with them. Usually he could just walk away and be done with them until they finished sniveling. "And just how do you suggest I do that?" He asked after a moment.

"I don't know, Sherlock. Cook breakfast for her, clean the flat. Just do _not_ make things worse."

)0(

After sitting up all night, Sherlock _had_ planned to treat his flatmate to breakfast. But, instead of coming into the flat so he could ask, Diane immediately ran past the door on her way out. She didn't stop, didn't pause to look in, even though the door was open. So, on he sat, waiting for her to return... Except that she didn't. At least, not until much later that evening, at which time she simply walked right by the door. Sherlock, who had been pacing (as he was not the patient type of person), got hit with a waft of old book smell, mixed with dust, and saw the now bulging satchel at her hip. She had been to the library...or maybe a bookstore. Either way, the information didn't help him at all. Her shoes tapped on the hardwood of the stairs, quick and light, and echoed through the brilliant brain of the consulting detective. Her door slammed shut, and music began blaring once again. No quite loud enough to bother the neighbors, but enough that he could hear it through the floor. Sitting down once again in his chair, Sherlock put the tips of his fingers together and leaned them against his lips, staring into the fire beside him. He hardly noticed when someone walked in and started talking to him.

"Sorry, what?" Sherlock said, looking around to see Mrs. Hudson setting the tea tray down on the table.

"I said, did you talk to Diane yet? Mary mentioned what happened last night. Horrid business. And you should know better by now, Sherlock." She fussed, making up his usual cup of tea. "There you go, a nice cuppa." The older woman sat down in John's chair. "Honestly though, poor dear, she's been through so much."

"At least no one she knows is dead yet." He said offhandedly, blowing on the tea to cool it down.

"Shame on you, Sherlock! How do you know anything about her life?"

"Just the small matter that she works for Mycroft."

"And just what does that have to do with it? I know your brother well enough to know that he would never divulge an employee's personal life to anyone, especially you." Sherlock shrugged at her. "Well, I happen to know for a _fact_ that that young lady has had quite the hard life. Now, I like her very much, dear, she's a sweet girl."

"Ugh, you sound like Mary and John."

"Good, they seem to be the only people you listen to." Downstairs, the doorbell rang, a single quick push. "Oh, that'll be a client then?" Mrs. Hudson stood up and went to answer the door.

)0(

When Diane got to work that Monday, she did indeed have new information. Mycroft had placed a file on her desk with forms to fill out that would allow her to take Jay and Bonnie to court. On top of the file was a note that read as follows:

 _Do not worry about filling it out right now. There are more pressing matters at hand that require your attention. Fill these out after you get home._

 _-MH_

"Well, isn't that nice." She muttered to herself, before placing it in her purse and turning her focus to the other files that sat on her desk.

The next two weeks followed with much of the same. Getting up early, going to work, planning Mycroft's day down to the last detail, going home, filling out as much paperwork as she could handle, then going down to take a shower or have a bath with a glass of wine...it really just depended on how she felt at the end of the day. Diane had actually taken to keeping a mini-fridge in her room so she didn't have to go downstairs as often, as well as to keep her snacks from being contaminated by whatever body parts Sherlock had decided to leave in there. Sometimes, she would go out for dinner with Mary, John accompanied them if he wasn't working or running around all of London with Sherlock. It wasn't that she was avoiding the detective, not at all. She just happened to be so busy and not in the mood to deal with him that she never saw him. It did help that he was often out of the flat when she was there, off on his own little adventures.

After she had handed the complaint form back to Mycroft, he had given her his word that they would prosecute Jay to the fullest extent of the law, and maybe even get Bonnie dragged along with him. Once the paperwork had gone through the appropriate channels, Diane would be contacted by the lawyer Mycroft had employed with the particulars of the court date. Until then, all she had to do was wait.

But the weekend was fast approaching, and she didn't think she could handle just hanging around the flat the whole time. Of course, Diane was usually so busy, that she never really had any time to go out and do anything. Thursday evening, while having a dinner of spaghetti and homemade meatballs with Mary, she decided to try it.

"So," she started, taking a sip of the wine she had squirreled away from her flatmate, "Do you know of any good places to hang out?"

Mary stopped with her fork halfway to her mouth, quirking an eyebrow at the woman across the table. "Hang out as in 'have dinner with friends and then see a movie'? Or do you mean 'place to get smashed and forget about the fact that my ex-fiance is out to get me'?"

"Second one." She said with a shrug. "I haven't been out dancing since I was in college. If that could be called dancing. Down south there weren't many places with music or atmosphere that suited me. Mostly country or indie bands, one that blared nothing but, for lack of a better term, black music."

"I see. Well, um, there's a few. I went to a couple back in the day. Uh, well, there's Fabric, but it's a bit pricey. And to be honest, it's more of a dinner club than anything. Heaven's nice."

"Yes, I've heard it's got great weather up there this time of year." Diane countered with a confused look.

Mary just laughed at her. "No, no. Heaven is the name of the club. But, I don't think you'd like that one either."

"Why not?"

"Well, because it's a gay club." The blonde woman waited for the look of mortification to come over her, but she was met with a raised brow.

"Ok, and?"

"Wait." Mary scooted forward, looking around to make sure they were alone. "Are you..."

Diane blinked, waiting for her to finish. When she didn't, she shrugged. "I'm not a lesbian. I _do_ , however, enjoy the female form. On occasion, more so than that of a man."

"So, you're bisexual." Mary finished for her.

"For lack of a better term, yes. Anyway, while I have no problem with going out to a gay bar, that's not really what I'm up for at the present time."

"Ok. Um, the only other one I can think of would be Egg."

"I might have heard a friend mention it once. Any good?"

" _I_ like it, does that count?"

"Most certainly. What better praise than from that of a kindred spirit?" Diane told her in an actor's-portrayal-of-Shakespeare voice. "Seriously though, if you like it, I probably will too."

)0(

Friday had Diane feeling giddy. With the prospect of something to look forward to, it seemed like there was an extra pep in her step. This did not go unnoticed by her boss, though he said nothing. At the end of the workday, he offered to give her a lift back to Baker Street, as he was going there as well; something about having to discuss a case. But, once they were well on the way to the flat, he started in on her.

"So, my dear. Any plans for the night?" It was almost offhanded, the way he said it.

"Um, yeah. I was gonna go out dancing. Mary and I are having a girls' night. Why? Is there something you need from me tonight?"

"Not at all. I prefer to know where all those who work under me are in case of an emergency." Diane tilted her head with a look of slight suspicion, but eventually decided to let the thought be. When they arrived, Diane got out first, so she could go unlock the door to the flat. It beat having to wait for Mrs. Hudson.

"Oh, hello, John," she grinned as soon as she got in. "Mary here then?"

"Uh, no. She had to hang back, said she was gonna meet you." John knew what the plans for the night were. He could already feel the pride of knowing about something Sherlock didn't.

"Alright, thanks." Diane turned around only to be facing Sherlock himself, having been standing in the kitchen. "Mr. Holmes." She said cordially, before moving around him.

"Diane." He responded as she passed him. All three men watched her trot up the stairs, then Sherlock turned back to his brother. "What do you want?"

"Coming to see about the case I gave you last week. Any progress?"

"A bit, though not many solid leads."

"As if that ever stopped you."

"It appears that there are a few more legs we didn't quite reach. I 'm sniffing them out as we speak." Sherlock's teacup rose to his lips, blowing on the hot liquid to cool it a bit. Then he reeled back. "God, this isn't my tea!" He said with a grimace.

"Just a bit of orange tea, little brother. You know it does have other benefits besides being a side to breakfast."

"I didn't say it was _bad._ It's just not one I've drank before. Must be one of the ones that Diane bought. Good lord, how does she know which one of these is which?" As if to prove a point, he slung his arm behind him, gesturing to the several identical canisters.

John snorted. "Maybe she uses her powers of observation to smell them." Even Mycroft cracked a smile. "Honestly, Sherlock? You can't tell what kind of tea those are, but you can identify one hundred and forty different kinds of tobacco ash?"

"One hundred, forty-two." He pouted. Behind him, he heard Diane coming back down the stairs, her footsteps quicker, but heavier.

"Alright then," she popped in, "I'm off, so don't mind if I come in a bit late. John, don't stay up too late."

"No problem, I'm going back to the house the moment all this business is finished."

Time slowed to Sherlock. He could hear what was being said, but his brain was going a million miles faster. Diane had redone her make-up in a heavier, more smokey style that she had been wearing lips a dark red color. From under her coat, he could see a nice shirt over a tank top, a longer skirt and rain boots. But, underneath that, he could tell she was wearing a nicer perfume than her usual vanilla scent. _Neroli_. Her hair was down, but with a couple of small braids poking out here and there. There was a distinct bulge under the rise that was her bottom. _Shorts...maybe a very short skirt_. Rings and bangles adorned her hands, which led him to the purse one of them was leaning on. It looked to be much bulkier. _Hiding something_. She also didn't have her glasses on. _Lots of moving, possibility of them being knocked off._ Even something about the look in her eye made him wary.

"Where are you off to?" He asked out of habit, though he did try to pass it off as disinterested.

"Uh, me and Mary are going to dinner. I thought John would have told you." Just from the looks the other two were giving him, he knew something was up.

"Right, well, have a lovely time. Careful not to get murdered or anything. Otherwise I'll have to look for another flatmate." The last part was said more to the microscope he was looking into than it was to her.

"Thanks...I think?" She made a face. "Anyway, bye." With a wave, Dian disappeared down the stairs.

As soon as the door slammed, Sherlock got up and went to the window. From his vantage point, he watched her hail down a cab. It took her a while, but eventually, she was off. "Now, where would you be going dressed like that?"

"Sorry, what?" John called.

"Where do you suppose she's going, dressed like that?" This time it wasn't rhetorical. "What could she be hiding?"

"Honestly, it's really not that hard to see, Sherlock." Mycroft groaned at his brother's minor fault of not knowing.

"She's going out, that's for sure." He queried. "But, not to dinner. No, she was hiding shoes in her bag. _Heels_ , to be precise. And her make-up, she never does it up like that, not even for that gala you held." With a wide motion of his arm, he continued. "Then there was the _extremely_ short scrap of material that she was wearing under the skirt." Sherlock's rant was stopped by the sound of laughing to his left. John was laughing at him. "What?"

"I just can't believe you actually don't know where she's going. You always knew what everyone else is doing down to the tee."

"Oh, what? You know where that madwoman is going? You saw all of that?"

"As a matter of fact, I do know." John told him with a smirk. "Dancing, Sherlock. She's going dancing. And, no, I didn't know, she told me. Well, Mary told me. She probably just didn't want to give you a chance to embarrass her again. Who knows what kind of thing you'd say about her then? Probably end up calling her a slag because she went out to a club. Presumably to find a mate." The last part was put in sort of a posh tone, that sounded vaguely like Sherlock.

"I don't sound like that."

"Yes, you do," Mycroft remarked, bored.

"Point is, Sherlock. Diane wants to go have fun, not be picked apart because of what she is wearing. Anyway, if we're done here, I have to get home. Gotta get some z's before my shift tomorrow. And you," he pointed to the dark hair man. "Leave her be. Goodnight, Mycroft."

"Dr. Watson. A pleasure, as always." Once John was gone, the elder Holmes began inspecting his brother's face. "Well, I'd better be off as well. Do give Diane my best when you see her again. Tell her I will see her on Monday."

It was a few minutes before Sherlock bounced into action. Tossing off his dressing gown, he straightened his shirt and slid into the Belstaff coat. _Did they really expect me not to?_ He thought to himself as he wrapped up in his favorite scarf.

)0(

 _ **A/N: Yeah, so this is a much shorter chapter than the previous ones. But, this is more of a filler, and a stopping place for the night. Unfortunately, I always have certain scenes that I want to show, but they always have some time apart, and I end up having to find a way to keep you sated with some other plot points. Next chapter, what does Sherlock do?**_

 _ **Read, review, follow, fav, whatever. Let me know your thoughts. I am also taking prompts and requests at this point.**_

 _ **AcaciaDawn105**_


	13. Chapter 13

_**Chapter Thirteen~ New Side**_

 _ **A/N: First of all, I would like to thank the reviewers from my last chapter.**_

 _ **KittyBear98: Be patient, it's coming...eventually ;)**_

 _ **Allison: I know right! Most of the stories I have read, the OC always just kind of brushes off whatever he says. That irks me because most women wouldn't just be like 'eh'.**_

 _ **Also, I am adding a playlist for this chapter, so you have an idea of what I hear when I write. It also has something to do with the fact that I don't know what music is popular in English clubs, so bear with me.**_

 _ **So, in no particular order:**_ _ **Talk Dirty To Me**_ _ **-Poison,**_ _ **Womanizer/Toxic/Circus**_ _ **-Britney Spears,**_ _ **Disturbia**_ _ **-Rihanna,**_ _ **Sweet Dreams**_ _ **-Eurythmics,**_ _ **Hips Don't Lie**_ _ **-Shakira,**_ _ **Naturally**_ _ **-Selena Gomez,**_ _ **Do It Like A Dude**_ _ **-Jessie J,**_ _ **I Wanna Do Bad Things To You**_ _ **-Jace Everett,**_ _ **Holding Out For A Hero**_ _ **-Bonnie Tyler,**_ _ **Buttons**_ _ **-Pussycat Dolls,**_ _ **Sexy Back**_ _ **-Justin Timberlake,**_ _ **Believe**_ _ **-Cher,**_ _ **Get This Party Started-**_ _ **P!nk,**_ _ **1, 2 Step**_ _ **-Ciara,**_ _ **Bad Boy**_ _ **-Cascada.**_

 _ **A rather long list considering most people only put a few songs up, but this is MY mind palace dammit! BTW, important chapter, this. I will try to make it as long as I can, because there are a lot of things going on in this one. I think you will like :D. Anyway, on with the story, my lovelies. Read and review**_

)0(

 _God, it's hot in here._ It seemed that the club had no air conditioning. And if they did, it wasn't turned up very high. Of course, it might have had something to do with the three drinks she had already consumed, and the fact that she was in the middle of the dance floor. Bodies pressed against her from every direction, thumping and jolting with the beat of the song. Her hair, once up in a braid, had long ago been pulled down, giving her something to do with her hands besides just hold them over her head or swing them wildly like every other person was. The heat was causing it to be weighed down with sweat, which was momentarily alleviated everytime she flipped her hair, or ran her fingers through it. Despite her closed eyes, Diane could see the music, every beat, every note. It was one of her oddities that she rarely told anyone about. Maybe it was just the music pulsing through her body, but behind her eyelids, she could see the swirls and pops of color that made up whatever song she was dancing to.

"I'm gonna go get another drink!" Mary yelled in her ear, bringing her out of the mesmerizing sensation. "Want anything?"

Diane shook her head. "I'll have whatever you're having."

"Alright then. Be right back." She watched as her friend's blonde head bobbed away through the mass of people.

Why hadn't she done this sooner? It felt so good to let go, forget the job, forget the people, to get lost in the music. It had been a long time sense Diane had done anything that made her feel sexy. Sure, she had felt that pride of knowing she looked beautiful the night of the gala, but this was different. Her body was more publicly exposed than it had been in years, hips, arms, shoulders and head moving with the music. Right this moment, she didn't have to worry about keeping up appearances, because no one was watching her. And if they were, then the other person was likely just as intoxicated as she was, and in the same mood.

Mary and she had stopped for dinner, as they told the men, but it was more for a chance to change and do up their make-up a bit more than it was for sustenance. Of course, they knew that they needed to eat. It wouldn't do for them to end up getting smashed on an empty stomach, that would only make it worse for them in the morning. And right now, she was _really_ glad she wasn't wearing the long skirt and layered shirts that she had walked out of the flat in. If that were the case, she'd have been dying from heatstroke in this place. Her shoes, while quite tall, had a wide heel to make it easier for her to move. Diane had once made the mistake of wearing thin heels to a party. It ended with her snapping the stick of wood and rubber off and twisting her ankle.

Every so often, Diane would feel hands on her body, usually her hips or her back, or a body pressed close to hers. It didn't bother her, and she never pushed them away. She knew what she was here for, so it didn't matter that there were people there who thought otherwise. She danced with both men and women, some just out of fun, others trying to bring a sexual aspect to the giration. Eventually, the person would move on to dance with someone else. And she was fine with it.

Diane opened her eyes again when Mary pushed a drink into it. _Thank God_. "Thanks, I'm dying." She told the other woman and took a sip of the icy beverage.

"I know, that's why I ordered them," came Mary's response. They danced in place, careful to not spill the contents of their glasses. "Oi, look who showed up." Following her pointed look, Diane turned. She was met with a familiar pair of blue eyes, and she grinned.

)0(

Sherlock felt the heat as soon as he stepped in the door, and it only got worse as he got closer to the dance floor. This was not the usual sort of place he frequented, though he could understand the appeal, in a way. The loud, thumping music combined with alcohol and who knows what other drugs, it must be wonderfully intoxicating not to think. It took him back to the days when he was a heavy user, every other week being found in the most horrid places of disrepute by his brother. That was the reason he started using in the first place. He often told John that it must be nice not being Sherlock Holmes, and he meant it. He was always thinking, always observing everything and everyone. He shrugged out of his coat and set it in the booth where Diane and Mary had left their things in favor of dancing. It hadn't been very hard for him to find them...all he had to do was follow the blinking dot on his phone. Yes, Sherlock Holmes stole Diane's phone at one point and synced the tracking app with his. As Sherlock watched the two of them, jumping around with everyone else, his mouth split into a wry smile. _Is that really what these people call dancing?_ There were men and women in the crowd that did little more than jerk their bodies or sway in place. Others were...alright, he supposed. They looked like they knew what they were doing at least. Every once and a while there would be someone who would do complicated moves, and everyone else would move away to give them space and spotlight. As he watched on, Diane seemed to get excited by the beat that had just started.

 _Sweet dreams are made of these. Who am I to disagree? Travel the world and the seven seas, everybody's looking for something._

Suddenly, the crowd parted around her, not that she realized. Her eyes were closed. Her dancing wasn't very complicated, but something about the way she moved her hips, the way the lights danced over her bare skin...it was mesmerizing. Like watching a cobra before it struck. She was much better looking than a snake though. Even Mary stood aside to watch.

He had been right in his deduction that she had been hiding shorts underneath the skirt she was wearing when she left. The blue tank top was shorter than he thought, exposing her midriff, and the ink that adorned it. Hair down, skin glistening with some sort of body shimmer...or maybe that was sweat. Diane's bangles moved up and down her arms as she danced, a slim belt with coins on it added to the belly dancer illusion. Eventually, the crowd closed up again. Another man approached her, hands on her still moving hips, and pressed in close to her, close enough that surely she could feel the oaf's obvious erection. _Neanderthals_ , he thought with disdain. Even at this distance, he could see his white t-shirt was soaked through with sweat. And obviously, so had she, because her nose wrinkled as he pulled her closer. And for the first time since he'd began watching, Diane pushed the man away. Of course, he just got right back in her space, mouth moving, presumably to tell her 'don't be like that.' Still, she pushed. He didn't seem to get the notion until Mary appeared and got between them.

Sherlock watched in awe as his best friend's future wife grabbed Diane by the face and pressed their lips together. Diane didn't even hesitate to take hold of Mary's hips and kiss her back. 'White T-shirt' guy looked a bit flustered for a moment, then shook it off with a grin. From his spot, Sherlock heard the man yell, "Oh, hell yeah!" Faintly over the music. Then swoop in on the women to grind on both of them. To which Diane backhanded him across the face and told him to piss off...at least, that's what it looked like she said. Thoroughly berated, he slinked off like a beat dog, tail set firmly between his legs. After a moment, both women started laughing uncontrollably. _Ah,_ the thought. _A clever ruse_. They continued to laugh, still dancing with each other and everyone around them.

Mary left. He followed her with his eyes all the way to the bar, but then went back to watching the woman in the middle of the floor. How did she dance in those damn heels? Although, he could admit to himself that they accentuated her legs nicely, but still. Diane's eyes slipped closed, once again absorbed in the music. Head tipped back and still dancing, he didn't think she realized that she was mouthing the words to the song.

 _There's only two type of people in the world. The ones that entertain, and the one that observe. Well, baby, I'm a put-on-a-show kinda girl. Don't like the back seat, gotta be first. I'm like the ringleader, I call the shots. I'm like a firecracker, I make it hot, when I put on a show._

By the time the song was done, Mary had made her way back to Diane and was giving her a drink. Not moving, but still swinging her hips to the music, the latter sipped on whatever concoction had been brought to her. She was faced away from him, the flower on her back clearly visible above the low rise of her jean shorts. It seemed that her legs were not the only thing those heels accentuated. It appeared to the detective that her posterior was rounder than he could remember it being. Of course, it didn't help that the shine of the coins resting against the material drew his attention to the tensed muscle and fat. Mary had stopped dancing, she was looking right at him. Sherlock watched as she leaned in to Diane and said something over the pounding music, then looked back at him. Diane turned, a smirk pulled at his lips. Then, as if it didn't matter who he was, she turned her back on him, facing her friend again. She brought her glass to her lips and knocked back the rest of the drink. _Interesting._

)0(

 _Of course he would bloody be here!_ Diane threw back the rest of her drink. _Fucking creeper, following me around like he's five years old after a damn ball in the street. One night, that's all I wanted, just one. He's gonna fucking deduce the hell out of me for this, and I'm just gonna hate him even more, which is going to make my even harder than it already is. FUCK!_

"Want another?" Mary shouted at her.

"Something stronger," she said back. Once again, her friend disappeared into the crowd. Why couldn't she just have one thing to herself without Sherlock Fucking Holmes swooping in to assess every little detail. Right now, she refused to even look at him. _He's here just to fuck with me_. Focusing on the people around her, on the song that started playing, one of her personal favorites. Not that she'd tell anyone, but her one-night stint as a stripper had led to this being her absolute number one dirty dancing song...not that it wasn't before.

While she had been in college, her mother had stopped being able to give her money for food during the week, so she had gone job hunting. Unfortunately, all the work-study jobs were taken, and no one in the small college-town was hiring, because there were already students working there. One of her friends, who was also hurting for money, had seen an add in the local newspaper that the _one_ strip club within fifty miles of them was hiring. And, hey, easy money. So, they went and had a _very_ short interview. Diane had come back the next night, Wednesday (not the best night to start working...), and danced for the first time in her life. Dancing in freaking seven-inch heels and a stretchy gold dress had earned her about seven dollars...from the other dancers. There was literally only one patron in the club when she danced, and he was more interested in chatting up the waitress than what was going on up on the stage. That whole night, she danced maybe ten times. Eventually, "Sexy Back" had come on and she stopped paying attention to the people in the room, and just danced.

That one dance had earned her a grand total of $30, which brought her amount from the whole night up to...$40 dollars.

Suffice to say, she never went back. It helped that she couldn't move the next day. Even being in marching band hadn't prepared her muscles for the sheer amount of abuse they had suffered dancing in heels that night. Eventually, she found a job as a waitress, one that let her keep her clothes on.

 _Dirty babe, you see these shackles, baby. I'm a slave._ Diane put her hands out in front of her like they were tied together, twisting them in a circle, than raised them over her head. _I'll let you whip me if I misbehave. It's just that no one makes me feel this way._

Again, hands placed themselves on her hips. It was different though. They weren't as grabby as all the others had been, they didn't dig into the slight amount of fat that were her love handles. The smell that enveloped her was not the usual sweat-stench mixed with alcohol and unknown body fluids. The hands that touched her bare skin where not sweaty or overheated; in fact, they cooled her feverish skin quite nicely. Without thinking (that's why she was there, duh) Diane moved to press her back against the man that stood behind her. He wasn't dancing so much as he was just swaying back and forth with her. _Well, I mean, some people can't dance. At least this guy knows it._

She placed her hands over his where they rested on her plump hips. Even in her inebriated state, she could feel the calluses on his hands, the tips of his fingers to be exact. By now, he was dancing a little more, actually moving with less rigidity. She trailed her fingertips over his hands, up the exposed expanse of toned forearms. Bringing her arms up, she put one hand on the back of his head, wrapping her fingers up in the messy curls there. The action caused the guy to pull his head down towards her ear. Vaguely, she could feel his fingers moving against her sides, his thumbs digging into her back, almost like he was massaging the area. It felt nice. His right hand swept along her side, up and up, brushing gently over the sensitive skin of her inner arm. This light touch sent a shiver down her spine. _Damn, he knows what he's doing, doesn't her?_ Some guys were good like that, they could find just the right way to pull you in. Most that she had met couldn't do things like that, and none of her (few) boyfriends had ever seemed to realize that she could be reduced to a puddle with a few light touches, instead of hard groping. Though she liked that too...

Whoever was dancing behind her had run his fingers all the way up to the hand in his hair, gently detaching it from twisting the strands around her digits. "Enjoying yourself?"

Diane's eyes shot open and her body stiffened. The grip on her hand tightened as she spun, leading her through the motion like it was a dance move. The smirk on Sherlock's face made her want to punch him. "What the hell, Sherlock?!" She tried to tug her arm away, but he held fast. At some point, Sherlock had shed the suit jacket and rolled his sleeves up to his elbows, but he still looked very out of place on the dance floor. Everyone else was wearing as little clothing as possible, her included. And here he was, still in his nice, ironed trousers, and dark purple dress shirt.

And right now, he looked very much like the Cheshire Cat. "I rather thought I was doing a good job, given that I've never danced before. Well, I've danced, but not-"

Not letting him finish, she twisted in his hold so that Sherlock lost his grip, and then stomped off in the direction of their booth. With a low chuckle, he followed. As she sat down on the vinyl seat, Mary reappeared with a glass of straight whiskey. Diane glared at her, considering that the blonde looked like she was trying very hard not to laugh. "And where the hell were you?"

"Getting your drink, dear. Bartender was rather busy. I assumed you wouldn't notice. You were a little distracted. Well, if you're not going to dance, please excuse me while I go have some fun." And off she went.

Diane's face turned beet red, and she covered it with her hands. "Oh. My. God." She groaned. This was mortifying. "Motherfucker!"

"Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?" Sherlock was still standing beside her, hands on his hips.

"As a matter of fact, I do. Where do you think I get it from?" If looks could kill, Sherlock would be dead a hundred times over. "Do you enjoy messing with me so much as to ruin my night out?"

He waited to answer until she finished gulping down the whiskey. As she made a face at the burn, he told her, "What makes you think I was doing it just to mess with _you?_ Could be that I'm just out to enjoy a night of drinking, dancing, and debauchery."

"You only ever drink alone or with John. You _just_ told me you've never been out dancing. And, up until now, I was pretty sure you were fucking asexual, just like your brother!" She finished with a heavy sigh.

"Yes, well, thought I'd give it a try. And what made you change your opinion on the matter of _my_ sexuality?" Diane didn't say anything, just gave him an _are you fucking kidding me right now_ look. Then, with a raised eyebrow, she swept her hand out and grabbed him by his open collar, which nearly popped one or two of the buttons, and pulled him down to be face to face with her.

"Says the bulge in your pants that I could feel on my backside."

Sherlock could smell the alcohol on her breath, but she didn't seem to be all that affected by the multiple drinks she'd had. If he were honest with himself, the mix of alcohol, jasmine perfume, and sweat was a bit heady. One might almost call it...sensual. The thought caused a sudden rush of blood to his face and ears...and other places, much to his dismay. Her darkly painted lips were parted ever so slightly as she breathed, pupils blown wide in the dim light of the club. She was searching his face for something. "Contrarytopopularbelief..." He started, Diane's eyebrow rose even higher. Clearing his throat, he said a bit more slowly, "Contrary to popular belief, I am human, and I _am_ a man. Having an erection because there is a...relatively attractive woman _grinding_ against me is a perfectly normal response." It was all said very matter-of-factly, Sherlock automatically slipping into that annoying habit.

"Relatively?" She repeated. Pushing him away from her, Diane grabbed her coat and bag and moved to push past him.

"Of course, you would focus in on _that_ word out of everything I just said," he moved in front of her to keep her from leaving. "I did not mean it like that, and you know very well that I didn't."

"Right, because I know everything about you and what you mean when you talk. Get out of my way, Sherlock."

"Mary is still here. She'll be upset that you left without her."

"No, she won't." Diane managed to get around him and rushed out the door.

"She off then?" Mary asked from his elbow, giving Sherlock a bit of a start. "You better go after her. She was just about to forgive you." She gave him a gentle push just as her phone dinged in her hand. He didn't argue, just grabbed his Belfast coat and followed the irate brunette out onto the curb.

Meanwhile, the blonde woman laughed and sent the picture she'd taken to her fiance. The text attached to it read: _So Diane had fun...didn't realize she'd have_ that _much fun, rofl. Look who joined us._

)0(

When Diane heard the door open and the music from inside spill out, she lifted her head, hoping it was Mary. "Ugh, what now?" Sherlock stopped, "Are you going to comment on how badly my clothes fit me? Tell me about how I bought them when I was about five pounds lighter? Or maybe you'd rather deduce my make-up?"

"I wasn't going to say anything about any of that." He said simply.

Diane huffed out a wry laugh, turning away from him. "God, why do you have to ruin everything?!" She shouted as she spun back around. "Every time something good happens, you come around and just..." She shook her arms at him, searching for the words. "Aaargh!"

"I apologize if I said something that upset you," Sherlock told her calmly. "But-"

"No! No, no, _you_ don't get to do that. You don't get to tell me you're sorry when we both know you're not really. _You_ don't get to try to rationalize about why I'm getting upset. You don't get to do shit that you _know_ is gonna piss me off, and then try to fix it just because John and Mary are telling you to. So, stop playing the goddamn games and be straight with me. You really want me out that bad? Fine!" Diane flung her arms up, "I'll fucking tell Mycroft that I don't want to be your fucking babysitter! I'll get the fuck out of your flat and leave you all by your lonesome. Because that is obviously what you want!"

"You have no idea what I want." Sherlock's voice seemed to have gone down a whole nother octave, or maybe that was just the alcohol finally kicking in. "I do admit that when my brother first brought you to Baker Street I was...hesitant to let anyone else in. Especially after the last secretary. I had my reasons-"

"To what? Try to sabotage my job until I finally cracked?! Well, congratu-fucking-lations, Mr. Holmes! You've succeeded!" At this point, Diane was shouting in his face, probably unaware of how close she was due to alcohol intake. But, she didn't really care anyway. She was pissed. "Now, do me a favor, and go fuck yourself."

"That would be rather hard, considering that it is physically impossible for me to-"

"Jesus Christ on a Cross, Sherlock! It's a way of fucking telling you to get the hell away from me!" Diane's chest heaved in exertion of yelling and being so angry. "Jiminy Cricket, you are so..." She made as if she were throttling him from a distance. "Infuriating!"

"And you are quite intoxicated and overly emotional." If Diane's fist hadn't connected with his cheek just then, he wouldn't have even noticed that she had moved. Before she could hit him again, Sherlock managed to grab hold of her arm. She swung with the other one, barely grazing his shoulder, and he grabbed that hand too. With one, easy motion, Sherlock had both his arms around her, pinning hers from striking him. "Calm down."

"Do not fucking tell me to calm down right now, Sherlock. I can still bite a fucking chunk out of your throat if I wanted too. You're lucky I'm wearing these goddamn heels, otherwise your ass would be on the fucking ground."

"Do you realize that you curse a lot when you're drunk?" He asked, slightly amused.

"I am not drunk." Diane stated. She finally stopped struggling and slumped her head forward, landing on his chest. "Fuck you, Sherlock Holmes."

"Maybe later." Diane could feel him laughing underneath her face, all deep and rumbly. "Are you finished threatening me?" With a huff, she nodded. He chuckled again. "Good, then listen, and listen well. I did not come out here tonight with the intention of running you off." He could hear her snort, "I didn't. I was curious. You should have known better than to try to hide something from me." Diane growled at him, only to be silenced when he squished her tighter against him. "You looked like you were having fun."

"Yeah, I _was_."

"My point is, you looked like you were having fun. Now, as you probably know, I do not usually go out for anything besides helping the police find criminals."

"No shit. You were stiff as a board when you started...attempting to dance."

"Yes, I am well aware. Are you going to let me talk or are you going to continue interrupting?" She shrugged as much as she could. "Very good. I saw you dancing, I saw the way you looked like you didn't have a care in the world. Even with the loud music and other people constantly touching you, you were at peace, lost in your own world. I have never, in my whole life, been that...happy, I suppose you could say. No doubt working for my brother, you know all about the instances where he has found me in less than hospitable places."

"Of course." Diane raised her face to look at him. "You used to be a heavy drug user. When you started solving all those crimes, you stopped."

"Yes. The only way I could ever stop the overwhelming amount of information my brain processed every day, was to numb my entire self. Eventually, even that stopped helping."

"You nearly died, back before you met John. I saw it in the files. Shot up so much that you overdosed. They were barely able to save you." Her face thumped back down against his shirt. She sighed, breathing in the scent of cigarette smoke, books, and cologne.

"Exactly. When I saw you dancing, looking so at peace in your own body..." This was odd for him. He couldn't find the right way to explain it. Even with his brilliant mind, Sherlock was at a loss for words. The only person he ever bared anything to had been John. So, he said it as simply as he could. "I wanted to know what that felt like."

Diane's head rose once more. "And did you?"

"For a moment." He admitted, a small smile on his face at the woman still tucked in his arms. "But, as you said, I have a tendency to ruin the moment. John has expressed such sentiments time and time again. I apologize if I made you uncomfortable with the situation."

Again, she shrugged. Sherlock could feel the warmth of her breasts through their shirts, rather large in their squashed roundness. "It wasn't necessarily that I was uncomfortable with the dance, it was just..."

"Me."

Her face fell a little. "In a way, yes. But, only because I was pretty sure you did it just to fuck with me."

"Not at all, though I could see how you might have reached that conclusion." A cab passed by them rather fast, buffering them with a wave of cold air. Sherlock felt Diane shiver against him, bringing to his attention that she was still only wearing the tank top and shorts. Her coat hung over her arm. "Come on, we should get you home." He took the jacket from her and helped her put her arms in. "You might catch your death of cold."

"Wouldn't that be a way to go? Runny nose, sneezing, pain all over, and hacking my lungs up until my heart gives out." She muttered as he flagged down a taxi.

Luckily, he managed to get one on the first try. "Yes, that would be a bit silly." Sherlock offered her his hand to help her into the cab.

)0(

Diane sat down in John's chair, a fresh cup of tea in her hand. Her heels had been discarded by the door the moment she walked in, her coat shed when Sherlock knelt in front of the fireplace to get a blaze going. The fire was now roaring quite nicely, warming the entire room up in moments. With a sigh, Diane tucked her feet underneath her butt, settling in.

"You should let me take a look at that." She motioned to the cut on his cheek from where her rings had caught him.

"I'll be alright. Just a scratch. You should have seen the beating John gave me when I first came back. I still don't understand why he wasn't happy that I was back."

"Well, usually when someone dies, they don't end up coming back to life. When you lose someone you're close to like that...well, you mourn. You mourn, and you cry, and you curse the world for being so cruel, and you pray and beg whatever god there is for it to all have been a bad dream. But, after a while, you heal, you move on. Eventually, it hurts a little less, and you can function through the day without feeling like you want to follow that person to the grave. John made it to that point. He was ok." Blue eyes raised to hazel, examining every inch of the other's face. "He would have been alright if you hadn't come back, though I'm sure he's happy you did. The point is, John would have moved on and been happy with his life. You made him bury you, believe that you were dead. Isn't there someone who would cause you to be heartbroken if they died?"

Sherlock was silent for a moment, gazing into the fire as he organized his thoughts. "I faked my death so that I would never have to find that out." Diane was taken aback. When he looked back at her, she could see the tears in his eyes, barely there. "Moriarty set it up so that it didn't matter if he was alive or dead. If his men didn't see me fall, they would have killed John, Mrs. Hudson, and Detective Inspector Lestrade. Without a second thought, that madman blew his brains out so I wouldn't have the chance to use him as leverage to get the heat off of them."

"I see." Diane gave him a small smile. "At least now we know the difference between psychopath and sociopath."

"Why's that?"

"Well, you're a sociopath-"

"High functioning sociopath."

"Yes, you are. And that's the thing. A true sociopath would not have been thwarted by the idea of other people dying for him. A _true_ sociopath has no grasp of other people's feelings, what they think of him. You are always worried about what John, Mary, Mrs. Hudson, Lestrade and his ilk, think about you. To be honest, I don't even think you are a sociopath, though you do display some of the behavioral traits. It's actually more likely that you are a high functioning autistic than a sociopath." Sherlock tilted his head with a slightly exasperated look. "On the other hand, we have Moriarty, who really had no care for other people. He saw himself above everyone, and they were all expendable pawns to be made to dance at his whim. Even you. He had no empathy, no grasp on how to be a functioning human being in society. He might have been able to pretend, but his true nature would have come out eventually."

The two of them sat in silence, each lost in their own little world. Sherlock thought on all the things she had just said, while he stood warming himself at the fire, about how he did care. He realized that perhaps she was right. Not about the autistic part, but the rest of it was pretty spot on. Likewise, Diane let her thoughts drift off to wherever it's drink-addled mind wanted. Times like this, she would often think of something random, only to have another thought pop into her head, and so on and so on, until she couldn't remember the first thought she had. It was, at the same time, wonderful and infuriating. At this moment, she was remembering the club, how nice it was to just let go. This led to the thought of how she had been dancing against Sherlock (which brought a bit of color to her cheeks). With a shiver, Diane brought her cup to her lips, only to find it empty. _Well, I suppose that's the universe telling me to stop thinking and go to bed._

"I think I'm gonna head up." She stood, putting her cup in the sink and then walking back into the living room to gather up her coat from the back of the chair. "Sorry about hitting you earlier."

"I probably deserved it." Sherlock smiled at her, a rare sight.

"Right." Diane gathered up her shoes. Halfway out the door, she had a thought. "Hey...how did you find me? I mean, Mary didn't tell John where we were going, and even if she had, he wouldn't have told you."

"Oh, that. I just tracked your phone." He stated offhandedly.

"You...you tracked my phone?"

"Yep," he popped the 'p', looking up from the fire.

Diane was standing there wide-eyed. "And just how did you do that? Last I checked, I never synced my phone with yours..."

"Of course you didn't. I did, the other day while you were in the shower."

"I bring my phone into the bathroom with me..."

"Yes, you do." Sherlock's face scrunched up as if to say _obviously?_

"Let me get this straight," she took a few steps forward. "You came into the bathroom, while I was naked, in the shower, got my phone out of my pants pocket and then turned on the tracking app, just so you could tail me?"

"Of course not." He shook his head, quite overdramatically. "You're phone was sitting on the back of the toilet when I came in."

For a moment, Diane didn't move, just looked at him in astonishment. "I take it back."

"What?" Sherlock mused.

"I take back my apology for punching you in the face." With a yell, she kicked out, attempting to kick him into the mantle. Sherlock managed to catch her foot and pushed her back, which, her having had a few drinks, made her fall on her ass.

"I thought we were over all of this?" He asked advancing to where she lay.

As she stood up, the woman hissed, "That was until I found out you tracked my phone." And she swung at him, barely missing.

When he grabbed her, he tried to put her in the same hold as before, but she raised both legs off the ground, using her entire dead weight to fall under his arms. Unfortunately, he was still holding on and ended getting drug down with her. Diane attempted to force him on his back so she could beat on him a bit, quite forgetting that she had never been one for floor maneuvers. In truth, it had been her greatest weakness in self-defense class; especially when her opponent was bigger and stronger than her. Of course, being tipsy didn't help a bit either. Sherlock managed to roll her on her back, holding her arms between her chest and her face.

"Are you done?" He panted.

"Not even."

Wrapping her legs around his waist, Diane pushed up onto her shoulders, the leverage knocking the much taller man off balance. Sherlock released one of her hands to steady himself, which she used to her advantage. One of her hands shot out, hitting the crease of his elbow and making it buckle. He went down like a felled tree. With the breath knocked out of him, Diane managed to sit on his waist, pinning him down as much as she could. Being quite a bit shorter than her opponent did little in the way of helping in cases like this. She couldn't effectively straighten her legs far enough to pin his thighs down, and if she scooted down, she wouldn't be able to hold onto his arms and keep him from grappling her.

"You're quite aggressive when you drink, did you know that?"

"Fuck you."

"Eh, maybe later."

"Why the hell do you keep saying that?!" Diane went for a gut punch, but Sherlock's longer body and superior strength knocked her flat on her back again. " _Fuck_."

Sherlock knew better this time. Her legs were stuck between his in a way that would keep her from slipping out or kicking him in the fork of his legs. He also had her arms pinned over her head, a position that allowed him to hold them with one hand, just in case he had to keep her from head butting him, which was still a possibility. "Damn it, woman, stop thrashing."

"Me?! You're the jerk that followed me to the damn club. We wouldn't be having this issue if you hadn't fucking bugged my phone."

"And here I thought we were having a nice moment." Diane gave him a scathing look.

"Motherfucker, I swear to god, if you don't let me go right now, I'm gonna-"

Diane's words were cut off by the feel of his lips against hers. It wasn't a kiss...maybe it was. But, it wasn't soft, or sweet. It was more of a _shut the hell up_ kind of thing. It was odd, is what it was. Here was this man that had never even shown any kind of attraction to anyone, and then all the sudden, he was Mr. Hands. Speaking of which, the one that wasn't holding her arms had traveled to her face, holding her there. Not that she was moving. No, her brain was still trying to catch up. She was in sensory overload, and gasped for air. To which he slipped his tongue through her lips.

Every inch of Diane's body felt like it was on fire. Sherlock's hand reached under her head to bring her face up, which made him release her hands with the other to take his weight. Not that she was complaining, he was warm. Her hands went to his face, curling in the hair at the nape of his neck; his hand went to her side, fingers trailing over the bare skin. Sherlock dug his fingers into the flesh of her hip, unconsciously making her arch into him. When his lips began trailing down her chin, to neck, Diane's eyes opened, staring at the ceiling above them. Teeth left their mark on her skin, soothed by the flick of his tongue. Sherlock found the spot over her pulse, nuzzling it, then biting gently. Diane's answering gasp made him roll his hips forward.

Suddenly, remembering who they were and why she was here in the first place, Diane yanked his hair at the same time that she pushed on his chest. As out of it as he was, Sherlock fell to the side with little resistance.

"Wha-" he rubbed the back of his head where she had pulled.

"That shouldn't have happened." Diane went about trying to smooth her hair out of her face as she gathered her coat and shoes. "I...it...Sorry. Goodnight, Mr. Holmes."

Then she was gone.

Above him, the door slammed. Sherlock sat up, head spinning with what had just occurred. It had felt...like he wasn't in control, but his body did what it wanted. She was softer than he had imagined, more give to her body. Now, he realized what he had been feeling, watching her dance. Arousal. Not that it was anything new to him, he just hadn't been aroused by much since he had gone through puberty. The way she moved, the sight of her glistening in the flashing lights, the smell of her skin when he held her outside the club. God, what had he gotten himself into.

)0(

Likewise, upstairs, Diane was just leaning against her door, staring at the hardwood.

"Holy shit." She pressed her fingers against the swollen flesh of her lips. She could still taste him. For someone who hadn't had much sexual experience (at least according to Mycroft), Sherlock sure had known just what to do. "I guess that's one way to stop me from hitting you," she murmured with a shiver. Her whole body was still singing, heat pooling between her legs. _Fuck, I need to stop drinking._ Everytime Diane drank, she got flirty. And for her, flirting was normally being "one of the guys" and being aggressive towards them. In fact, one of the boys she had dated in high school had broken up with her because he thought she was abusive...that guy was also a 6"4', 250 pound football player.

Running a hand through her hair, Diane grimaced. Her hair was sticky with dried sweat. And knowing full well he'd still be there if she went to shower, she said _fuck it, I'll shower in the morning_. For the time being, she locked the door, then stripped out of her clothes. Not really feeling like bothering with more clothes right that moment, she crawled into bed, hissing at the sensation of satin sheets running over her skin. So, no cold shower, no male contact to finish her off, Diane was left with little option. Reaching over the side of the bed, she dug her 'little friend' from under the mattress. Running her hand over herself, she gathered up some juices and spread it over her lips and clit. _Fuck, I really should have taken a cold shower._

)0(

 _ **Ta-da, finite! Whew, talk about a rough chapter. This has been in my head for weeks, and it feels amazing to finally get it out. Here you are, my dears, hope you had a glass of water near by.**_

 _ **Nothing huge I know, but that was literally the sexiest thing I have ever written. Go me, lol.**_

 _ **As always, read, review, and enjoy. Next chappie should be up soon.**_

 _ **AcaciaDawn105**_


	14. Chapter 14

_**Chapter Fourteen~ Drops of Jupiter**_

Diane wouldn't say that she was avoiding Sherlock. Well, maybe the morning after she did. But, how was she supposed to expect when Mycroft would just randomly show up and tell her to back a bag. Which is what happened, and her reaction of hopping up and hugging the Iceman before running up to her room had nothing to do with the fact that she was still mortified with what had happened. Neither had the sigh of relief she let out while leaning against her door.

When she had woken up that morning, Diane momentarily forgot everything that had happened the night before as she was more focused on the cotton feeling in her mouth and slight pounding in her head. It wasn't as bad as it could have been. Diane didn't get hungover after drinking very often, because she always made sure she ate something and had lots of water before going to bed...oh, and not laying down flat when she was blackout drunk. That little lesson had been learned the hard way the second time she had ever had a real drink.

)0(

The first time had been when she was sick, and her parents gave her the choice of choking down a shot of warm whiskey and honey every hour, or having a mixed drink. Obviously, she had chosen the delicious concoction that her mother made up (Malibu coconut rum, limeade, and cherry syrup). She had one glass, then went to bed to sleep off the sickness. Diane's first blackout, she was fifteen at the time, and had gotten in trouble with her stepdad for whatever reason, probably not doing the dishes or something. As a result, she had been deemed grounded for the weekend. Not that she went out and did anything anyway.

Anyway, after everyone else had gone to bed that night, she sat up with her stepdad, Sean, and his dog, Choco. He had told her that if she stayed up the whole night, to keep him company, she could be ungrounded in the morning. So, they were just hanging out, watching a movie, enjoying the fact that her brothers were finally asleep. Well, Sean, ever the gamer, started talking about how he really wanted to play Assassin's Creed, because the movie they were watching had snippets of Italian and Latin. Just as a joke, she had told him, "I know a whole sentence in Latin." It was a prideful thing, that she had taken Latin studies that year and was excited to finally show off. "Hodie tempestas est clidum, curares aquam?" Which roughly translated to ' _The weather is very hot today, would you like some water?'_

"That's it, we're playing. But, if you want to play, you have to be tipsy first, 'cause this game is super easy unless you tipsy." It should be noted that he had been drinking a bit beforehand, which is what brought all this about. With a shrug, the young girl had acquiesced, and followed him to the kitchen, where he got down a shot glass and filled it almost full with Moonshine (of all the things he could have given her as a first drink), topping it off with the same cherry syrup to take the edge off. "Shoot this back, sip a second, then we'll play. If you want some more after that, cool. You can pour it yourself."

Everything kinda spiraled out from there. Not that anything bad happened, but Diane's hand-eye coordination with game controllers was just about nil, so trying to play a game where you had to balance on thin wooden poles and climb up buildings while intoxicated pretty much ended with her character dying too many times. Eventually, she gave up trying to play and handed the controller back to Sean, going to get her...10th shot? Yeah, even at fifteen, she could hold her liquor pretty well. At some point, Diane dissolved into fits of giggles because Choco had come up to her and licked her nose. That was when they found out that Diane was a very happy, very giggly drunk. It was after 5 am when she got up to go to the bathroom to pee yet again (shit ran through her like water), she had vaulted over the side of the couch.

She didn't remember if she stumbled, but she must have because her stepdad then told her, "You're drunk, go to bed."

So, making her way to her room, only making it there because she was used to walking around in the dark and knew where everything was without looking, Diane's vision looked like a television with the snowy static, and a very small point of clarity in the center. Not even bothering to change or pull her blankets down, she flopped down on her bed to sleep.

At least, that was the plan. She didn't know how much later it was, but she vaguely remembered turning over and smelling vomit, which made her lurch out of bed with a hand clamped over her mouth and across the hall to the bathroom. Finding the bathroom locked, she pounded on the door until whoever was in there (probably Sean), opened it and she fell through. After that, she didn't remember anything. Somehow, she had gotten back to bed, which she was sad to find did indeed have a bit of puke on her fluffy wolf blanket. Also, the bathroom was mysteriously clean, though it later turned out that Paul had cleaned it with a sock-rag of all things.

8 o'clock in the morning and Diane was already up and mobile, throwing her blanket in the wash and went about her daily chores of sweeping up the house. When her mother had passed her in the hallway, she stopped. "Are you ok?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. Sean let me drink last night, I'm still a little sleepy." Maria blanched at her daughters words, then stormed away to find her husband.

"Sean Paul!" She hollered. _Oh, shit he's in trooooouble._ Diane snickered. The only time her mother double named anyone was when she was upset with them. "What were you thinking, letting her drink?!"

Sean had been sitting at the kitchen table, nursing a cup of black coffee. "I thought I needed a drinking buddy." Diane walked in at that point, giving him an amused smile. "How are you not hungover?" He groused. "You drank more than I did."

At that point, Maria threw her hands up, but eventually conceded that it was fine, since Diane had done it in the house instead of out with friends, and she was in no danger of being balled up in bed for the rest of the day.

)0(

"Jesus Christ on a Cross." Diane set her bags down, John coming up behind her with the last one. "Remind me never to suggest Rome as a business trip, ever. God, it's good to be home." With a huff, she fell back and splayed over the bed.

"That bad, huh?" The doctor asked sympathetically.

"I thought Mycroft was bad about his weight _here,_ it was nothing compared to how he acted over there. Bloody idiot flat out refused to eat anything for three days! I swear, it must be a hereditary thing."

"Mmh, I don't think so. Mr. and Mrs. Holmes don't seem to care very much. Probably just the boys' crazy genius making them vain."

"Don't let either of them hear you say that, John. God knows Sherlock would have a fit if you called him vain, and Mycroft might just make you disappear. And what would I do without my best friends around to keep me sane?"

"Probably murder Sherlock."

"Probably," she agreed. "Speaking of which, where's he run off to this time?"

"There's no telling. Who knows what that man gets up to when neither of us are here to babysit him."

"Wouldn't be surprised if he went and bothered that Molly Hooper girl at the morgue, panhandling for body parts."

"By the way..." He started, scratching at his cheek. "What happened with you two?"

"What do you mean?" Diane sat up with a curious look.

"Mary told me he showed up at the club you two were at. Said you ended up getting in a fight and then going home with him."

"Oh, that." She huffed again. "Bloody bastard turned the GPS on my phone on, tracked me to the damn club."

"I see. And that little spat wouldn't have anything to do with the fact that you two were dancing?" He suggested.

Diane's eyes narrowed at him. "Why would it?" With a smirk, John pulled out his phone, showing her the picture Mary had sent him. It showed the two of them wrapped up in each other on the dance floor, her eyes closed and one hand over his on her hip, the other in those black curls. The expression on her face in the picture was happy, but oblivious to anything besides the moment in which it was taken. What surprised her was the look on Sherlock's face. He was looking at her, as much as he could from his position behind her, arms pulling her closer and a smile gracing his lips at her ear. This must have been right before he had whispered in her ear.

John watched in mild amusement as his friend's face went from rosey, to flushed, to bright red in quick succession. Her face fell into her hands with a groan. "You know, there's nothing wrong with liking him. He may be a thick prat, but he is more human than he appears."

"It's not that, John. I didn't realize who I was dancing with. Bastard had been watching us. I got so lost in the music that I didn't care who I was dancing with, usually didn't look at their faces. I let go, he saw that, and used it to his twisted advantage to freak me out."

"Are you sure?" He asked, a smile in his voice.

"It does seem like a very Sherlock thing to do, doesn't it?"

"Well, yes. But," John looked down at the picture, " _that_ certainly doesn't look like someone who is out to mess with their flatmate."

"Yeah, I know what it looks like. It looks like a very drunk girl partying so hard that she attached herself to the closest person, it sounds like a trollop grinding on everyone who came near her. It's not. I was hardly tipsy, and I wasn't doing the grinding...usually. People tend to move on when they realize you're not going to reciprocate." Running a hand through her hand, Diane sighed. "He told me that the reason he did it was because he saw how... _free_ I looked. How at peace. Apparently, he wanted to feel it too."

John let that information sink in for a moment. "So...he was experimenting on ways to get high without actually getting high? Huh. Well, I suppose it's a bit safer than solving murders and tracking down bad guys. I still don't see why it's a bad thing. You were having fun, he was having fun."

"And then I punched him."

"You did that?! He told me he got into a fight with some bloke at a pub. Said something about his mother, I think."

"Yeah, no, that was me." Diane hesitated for a moment, wondering to herself as to whether she should tell him everything. On the one hand, he was bound to find out eventually, probably from an offhanded comment by Sherlock. On the other, it might be that Sherlock was just as freaked out as she was and wouldn't mention it ever again. No, that wasn't right. Sherlock didn't think about things like normal people did; which is probably the reason that he had not told John anything that happened in the two and a half weeks that she was gone. He didn't care.

"Well, it'll sort itself out." John started towards the door, "Anyway, Mary and I are having a few friends over tomorrow night, if you'd like to come and meet-"

"He kissed me."

The army doctor stopped in his tracks, blinking rapidly in an attempt to process the information. "Sorry," he turned back to her. "I could have sworn you just said-"

"Sherlock kissed me."

John gaped at her, mouth trying to form words. "When?!"

"The same night. We got in another fight because I found out he had bugged my phone...I get really...aggressive, as he put it, when I drink. I kicked him, I fell, and he ended up wrestling me on the floor."

"Christ," the older man ran a hand over his face. "Right, and how did that lead to..." He finished with a wave of his hand.

"He was trying to talk to me, get me to calm down and I wouldn't. I'm pretty sure that he saw it as the only way to keep me from hurting myself."

"Yeah..." John sighed to himself. "God, that's why he's been acting odd. I'm going to go ahead and venture that it wasn't _just_ a kiss?" Diane groaned and hid her face in her hands again. "Wha-"

"I don't even know!" She said through her fingers. "I don't know, and I've been going over every minute of it for two and a half weeks. It's been driving me crazy! And fucking Mycroft, omnipresent as he is, already knows about it. Smug bastard has been giving me hell for it."

"How could he possibly know about that?"

"Probably has your phone bugged so he sees everything that comes and goes from it. One of the first things he said to me was asking if I had enjoyed my night, and if that was what I considered keeping a close eye on his brother. Told me, 'A bit unorthodox, I grant you, but it's effective, at least.'!" She said in her best impression of her boss. "And after that, he kept talking about things that were going on here at Baker Street while we were gone."

"Mycroft does do that. Jesus. And you're _sure_ Sherlock wasn't drunk?"

Diane shook her head. "Didn't touch a drop. He was sober as can be. Anyway, did you ask him?"

"I tried. He brushed it off, said it was nothing."

"Of course he would." Diane ran her hand through her hair again, noting that it was greasy. "Well, as long as he's out, I might as well go take a shower."

"Right. Just...don't punch him again when you see him, okay? Sherlock may be a genius, but he's a bloody idiot. Like I said, dinner tomorrow. Molly and Greg will be there."

"Sure, just text me when and I'll come by. Should I bring anything?" Her brain was slightly swimming at the sudden change of subject.

"One of those pies you make. The, uh, not key lime, but...shit what did you call it?"

"What? The really creamy one that Mary told me was better than sex?"

John's face lit up bright red. "Yeah, that one."

"That was the key lime. And yes, I will make it tonight and bring it for dinner."

"Great." Starting towards the door again, he smiled, "It's good to have you back, Diane."

"It's good to be back."

)0(

 _Once upon a time, a few mistakes ago, I was in your sights, you got me alone. You found me, you found me, You found me._

 _I guess you didn't care, and I guess I liked that. And when I fell hard, you took a step back, without me, without me._

 _And he's long gone when he's next to be. And I realize, the blame is on me._

 _'Cause I knew you were trouble when you walked in. Now I'm layin' on the cold hard ground._

Two weeks of weak hotel showers with crappy two-in-one shampoos and skin-drying soaps were washed away by the piping hot spray of 221B. Knots in her neck and shoulders were kneaded away as it beat down on her skin. Taylor Swift crooned away in the background. One would think that Diane had learned long ago to pack her own toiletries for a trip. And in fact, she usually did. But, it seemed like every time she remembered to do it, her bag got lost, only to be returned to Baker Street shortly before she got back. As such, Diane had just forgone her shampoo and conditioner, face wash, and deodorant, opting to buy the items after they landed at their destination. She lathered her hair with the mint and rosemary scented shampoo, reveling in the calming smell.

Diane was singing along with the music, dancing as best she could in the small space without slipping. Running a pouf over her skin, washing away the last few days and watched it swirl down the drain in a soapy whirlpool. Despite the constant meetings and meals with this dignitary or that, Mycroft had kept her mostly in the dark with the goings on of the government. Not that she minded, but she often felt that she could help him much more if she knew what was happening behind those closed doors. If it weren't for the creepy old men that tried sweet-talking her into their bedrooms, Diane would have insisted that she be allowed in the room with her boss. As it was, she as typically nervous of men she didn't know, more so when they overtly flirted with her. And every single one of them had been people that could destroy her and her career if they felt inclined to do so. Luckily, Mycroft held more power than them and had all but threatened them into leaving her alone.

Over the music, Diane could not hear the sound of the front door slamming.

)0(

 _Another goddamn dead end._ Sherlock flicked up his coat collar as he exited Bart's hospital, hailing down a cab. The most recent string of deaths that Scotland Yard had called him in to consult on involved several people who had all died in different ways. One had a seizure in the bathtub, drowning themselves. Another had fallen asleep driving and wrapped her car around a tree. Two had died of dehydration. The most recent one had been out with friends, then suddenly run out into the street and been hit by a car. The only thing that tied all of them together had been the fact that they all acted strangely just before they died, paranoid, tired and/or irritable. And they had all had the same chemicals in their blood. Something linked them, he knew it. But what was it?

He paid the cabbie and hopped out of the vehicle, mind still on the deaths. _No, murders. They have to be._ Opening the door, Sherlock was greeted with the sight of Mrs. Hudson standing at the bottom of the staircase, her head cocked a bit, listening. At the _slam_ of the door, she started, seeing the other tenant looking very much in a foul mood.

"Oh, dear. No good, then?" He didn't answer, but just moved past her. "I'll go make you a cuppa. That'll cheer you up, dearie." But, the tall man wasn't listening. He had made it halfway up the stairs and stopped, the sound of music trickling down from the flat. With an irritated look to the landlady, she giggled. "Isn't she wonderful, Sherlock?" And then Mrs. Hudson ducked into her flat to start the tea.

The detective's eyes narrowed. Surely Mycroft would have told him that they were back in the country. Nevertheless, he continued up the steps. But, something made him stop at the door. The music wasn't coming from Diane's room upstairs. It was coming from the bathroom, along with the sound of running water.

 _"I let it fall, my heart. And as if fell you rose to claim it. And it was dark and I was over, until you kissed my lips and you saved me. My hands, they're strong. But, my knees, were far too weak to stand in your arms without falling to your feet. But there's a side to you that I never knew, never knew. All the things you'd say, they were never true, never true. And the games you play, you would always win, always wiiiin._

 _"And I set fiiiire, to the raaain. Watch it burn as I...touch your face. Well it burned while I cried 'cause I heard it screaming out your name. Your naaame."_

Indeed her voice was nice...and very loud. As if she didn't realize how loud she was singing. He knew the song, as sometimes he did listen to the radio if for no other reason than for a distraction. Passing the door, Sherlock went into his room to trade out his white shirt (now covered in various stains from a failed test that Molly had accidentally knocked over) in favor of a purple one. Grabbing his blue dressing gown, he made his way back into the living room to wait for his flatmate.

In the time since that night, Sherlock had been deep in thought, questions chasing each other around his mind palace. Why had she pushed him away? Why had it bothered her so much that he used her phone to track her? Why had he kissed her in the first place? In fact, why had he followed her to the club? She had expressed mixed emotions over the course of the evening, and it confused him.

The water turned off.

)0(

Diane realized as she turned off the shower, that she had not brought extra clothes with her. And she couldn't put on the ones she had worn in there. She had been wearing them since early this morning, rode a plane in them, sweated uncomfortably in the heat of Italian October. Drying herself off as best she could in the steamy room, Diane squeezed some of the water out of her hair and ran the towel over it a few times before wrapping herself up in the now damp cloth, and tucked it in between her breasts. She turned down the music on her phone as she gathered it and her dirty clothes up in her arms, and stepped out of the bathroom. Cool air hit her skin, causing goosebumps to erupt, as she checked her email on her way through the kitchen.

"Eh, maybe I'll make some tea before I go up." She said to herself, and turned towards the electric kettle on the counter.

"That would be lovely, thanks."

Diane yelped, dropping her phone and clothing as she spun around to face the living room. Her now empty hands immediately flew to the tuck that kept her towel from falling to the floor. "Jesus Christ." She gasped, leaning against the table. In his usual chair by the fire, sat Sherlock, a smug grin on his face. "Do you have to do that?!"

"Of course. You'd never talk to me otherwise." He told her nonchalantly.

"I am not talking to you right now." She turned away to click on the kettle, then bent at the knees to gather up her fallen items. Standing up, she turned and nearly dropped them again when she found Sherlock standing right in front of her.

"And why not?" Sherlock asked, head tilted just a bit as he observed her reaction.

"Christ, Sherlock! Well, for one, I am standing in nothing but a fucking _towel_ , dripping wet, and I really don't want to have the conversation I know you're itching to have." Diane tried to back away, only for the step to be mirrored by the man in front of her. As she watched, he slipped out of the robe he wore, and flung it around her shoulders.

"There, now you're decent." Sherlock took the bundle of clothes from her.

"This isn't much better." She told him, tugging the silk over her still wet skin. After turning away from him, she untucked the towel and tied the robe closed over her body.

"It's better than a towel. And it means I don't have to wait for you to go upstairs, get changed and come back down. Which you might not."

He motioned for her to sit while he finished up the tea, making his usual, and hers just the way she liked it. "Right, because you are such a sociable person usually." She muttered when he handed her the tea in her favorite mug. It was green with a picture of Tigger from Winnie the Pooh adorning it in a slightly darker color. "Might as well get it over with."

"Yes, might as well." He took a long sip of his tea while watching her over the rim. His eyes roved over her, taking in the way her hair curled a bit when it was wet, how her skin was still flushed from the hot water, the way her hands pulled at the cloth she was wearing. She wasn't looking at him, so he took the chance to observe every little movement. Diane shifted in her seat, tugging the dressing gown to cover her legs and chest. He watched her, subtly, sniff at the cloth and then swallow thickly. The cold air of the room was making her nipples show through the thin silk, though she tried to hide the fact. "You're uncomfortable."

Her eyes flicked up from her cup, meeting his for less than a second before they settled on the fire, her fingers shifting the cloth over her skin again. "That obvious, huh?"

"Not really. You're very good at hiding it, but you fidget, you can't look me in the eyes."

"Can you blame me?" She said, eyes looking everywhere by him.

"No, I suppose not," he said placing his fingers on his lips. The movement drew her eyes to the digits before flickering away again. "Interesting. You've never had a problem with facing me down before. Perhaps it has to do with what happened. Or maybe it's because of the fact that you are vulnerable in your state of undress." Diane's body shifted again as he said this. "That along with the rather obvious fact that you are a bit chilled." At that, she made to cross her arms over her chest. "No need to hide it."

"There might not be a need to you, Mr. Holmes. I, however, am a bit more modest than you."

"Allow me to rephrase then. _Don't_ hide from me." This time, her eyes held his, though it was more because she was surprised than anything. He watched her throat working as she tried to talk. All that came out was a small sound that escaped from her lips. "There. Was that so hard?"

A shuddering breath made it's way from her lungs. "Could please start up a fire."

"Of course." He told her gently, sliding gracefully from his seat to kneel before the fireplace. Before long, she uncurled her feet from under her, stretching them out towards the now blazing fire. He noted that her toenails still had the same paint on them as the night of the gala, but her fingernails were now a nude brown color. _She's picked off the paint from her fingers, but hasn't messed with the ones on her toes._ "You did not respond to my text message." Sherlock stated.

"Um, yeah. I was working."

"And? You kept in touch with Mary, and occasionally texted John when you can't reach her. So, why not take a moment out of your _ever_ so busy schedule to answer the simple message." Diane had to take a minute to answer him. Indeed, she did receive a message from him, but had chosen not to answer because she was trying to think of how to deal with what had happened. It hadn't even been anything all that strange. As long as one doesn't take into account that it took him three days to realize she wasn't even in town.

 _Where are you? -SH_

With a gulp, she opened her mouth. "I...I don't know."

Sherlock's lips twisted into a wry smile. "That's not an answer."

"Well, I'm sorry, Your Majesty." She growled. "I'm sorry that I didn't know how to respond to a text from the man who, just the other day had followed me to a club, danced with me, and then kissed me after I hit you and threatened you, and basically tried to kill you."

"You couldn't kill me. Though it would be extremely ambitious of you." With a jolt, Diane was out of her seat.

"You'd be surprised of what I can do, Mr. Holmes."

"Indeed." He matched her movement, standing up slowly. It was a power play and both of them knew it. But it worked. Diane leaned away from him as he came to stand very close her, making her have to look up as he was quite a bit taller than her measly 5" 6'. "And why are you back to calling me _Mr. Holmes_."

"Because..." She started, breathing a bit faster when he moved in close to her. Diane cleared her throat, "Because you make me nervous."

"Really?" Sherlock's face softened. In that moment, he saw something else in her face. Not anger, not fear, though those were mixed in there too. "I don't mean to."

"Yes, you do, you prick." She chuckled softly, as did he.

"I suppose I do." Reaching out, Sherlock took hold of her wrist poking out of his large dressing gown.

Of course, Diane knew what he was doing. She knew all about how he took down Irene Adler, the _Woman_. She knew how he had taken her pulse, and that's how Sherlock had known that she hadn't just been pretending when she flirted with him. Without giving the tall, dark haired man a chance to count her heartbeats, Diane twisted her arm away from him, taking a step back as she did. "I want to know why. Why did you kiss me?"

"Seemed like a good idea at the time." Her green eyes narrowed at him, fixing him with a withering look. "You were struggling. With your inebriated state, I thought you might hurt yourself in your attempts to fight. Seeing no alternative, the only thing that could be done to render you immobile was to make some sort of romantic advance."

"And how could you possibly come to that conclusion?" The small woman hissed.

"Rather easily, given the circumstances in which you first arrived at Baker Street. Every other time I would do something that _could_ be seen as...well, not romantic. Perhaps, sexual would be a better term...yes, any time I would put you in what could be viewed as sexual in any way, you shut down. Something happened to you, maybe while you were with your ex, although childhood is more likely. So, what could possibly have happened to you that makes you so uncomfortable around men?" Diane opened her mouth. "Ah, but wait. You didn't give a second thought to fighting with your ex-fiance, who was quite short. You are not threatened by my brother, nor by John, or any of the men you danced with at the club that night, except perhaps the one who reeked of body odor, to whom your reaction was to push him away and then assert your dominance over him with a slap. Something... something about men... men like _me_ in particular makes you nervous. Childhood trauma, shying away from sexual advances by men who are taller than you, overtly male, someone who you see as could hurt you as easily as breaking a toothpick." Instead of shying away like Sherlock was sure she'd do as he advanced on her again, Diane raised her chin and stood her ground. "Interesting." He purred, and watched as her breathing hitched. "You can verbally spar with me any given day, but the moment you realized that I could, and _did_ , physically control you, you began to fear being near me. Add that to the way you clam up when faced with someone you are not sexually involved with doing something that seems sexual... What an interesting mixture we have here."

"There's nothing interesting about me, Mr. Holmes."

"Ah, but there is. Something happened to you as a child that made you be afraid of an large, overtly sexual man. Given the statistics, abuse is almost certain. The antidepressants I found in your room suggest that you suffer from depression, probably for a very long time, though you've only just started getting help for it."

"Stop."

"You were abused. But, by who? An uncle? No, certainly not. You're mother only has a brother who was going through treatment for Hodgkin's Lymphoma, and you never saw him. You have pictures of your uncle, which means you still care for him. Pictures of all your brothers, talking about them lovingly on a regular basis, keeping in contact with all of them. And besides that, they're all younger than you."

"Please, stop."

"So, who does that leave. Your father." By now, Sherlock was right on top of her, bearing down without mercy. "Your father, who was supposed to protect you. But, he didn't, did he. And your mother, oh, she just let it happen."

"Please, Sherlock." And he did. Blinking, he looked, really looked, at her. While there were tears in her eyes, she was still looking at him. Then he realized that she had a hand placed on his chest, stopping him from coming any closer.

"No..." His eyebrows furrowed. "No, that's not the reason at all, is it?"

Diane breathed shakily. "No, it's not. I had a few bad times as a childhood, but nothing like what you're trying to imply."

"What did I miss?" He whispered.

"Those pills you found...my family has a history of depression."

"It's hereditary."

"Yes. I had some environmental factors that attributed to it as well, but that was the biggest thing. And your right, I don't care for large men creeping up on me. But, that guy at the club that I hit, he was an asshole. He was asking me and Mary to come back to his place for a threesome. He was a pig. I don't mind your brother or John because they would not try to hurt me for anything. Though, I'm quite sure that Mycroft couldn't even if he tried. You, on the other hand, I know you could. I've seen some of the things you went through when you faked your death. I saw the strength that it took to survive the beatings and the torture. I also know what happens to the people that you do get into a fistfight with."

Underneath her hand, Diane could feel the heat from Sherlock's body, felt his breath. "You held your own quite well, despite having had a few drinks. You've been going back to your classes. How could I have missed it?"

She smiled through the tears, "You weren't looking for it. And you've been busy. I don't like being boxed in, feeling like I have no privacy or control. Occasionally, I like to give control over to someone else that I know I can trust." She gave him a pointed look, which he was confused about. "When we first met, you said that walk with confidence, but have self-esteem issues, do you remember?"

"Of course."

She nodded. "You were right. I do, and I always have. I had a revelation when I was in high school. As long as I make it look like I have no problems with myself, other people won't see the shy, bookish, weird girl that they picked on. I had a transformation my senior year, I became the woman you see now. And the truth is, Sherlock, you do scare me. And not just because I know you can hurt me physically. Part of it is that I know _you_ have no idea what your doing or why. You were experimenting, that's all that was. That's why I was so freaked out." With a pat, Diane removed her hand from his chest. "Now, if you'll excuse me...I need to go get dressed."

As soon as she was gone from the space, Sherlock shivered slightly. "I'll be wanting that dressing gown back." He called as she walked out the door.

Diane stopped, grinning to herself. Closing the door behind her and making sure there was no one in the foyer, she untied the belt and slipped it off, shoving it back through the crack in the door. Not waiting for him to grab it, she let go and ran up the stairs before Sherlock could open the door all the way and see her.

So, when he saw her hand poke back through the door, his eyes widened, brows jumping to his hairline. He watched her drop the material, and heard the light _pat pat pat pat_ of her bare feet on the stairs. "Cheeky." he scooped up the robe and went to gather up his violin so he could think.

)0(

"Annie! Oh, darling, I'm so glad you could make it." Mary said when she opened the door to find her standing there with a covered dish. She pulled the younger woman into a hug and then ushered her into the hall. "What's this? You didn't have to bring anything."

"I know I didn't. But, I know how much you love my key lime pie."

"Ooooh," Mary chortled as she took the dish from her and led her into the living room. "Thank you, love. I'll just go put this in the fridge. You go meet everyone." Diane stopped at the doorway. The room wasn't absolutely full of people, but there were several that she didn't recognize. She saw John and Mrs. Hudson, but the others she didn't know.

From his spot in the corner, Sherlock watched Diane stand in the hall, looking at the people in the living room. She was chewing on her lip. _I wonder if she knows she does that when she's nervous_? He thought to himself. Her hair was down again tonight, framing her face and drawing attention away from the somewhat low v-neck of her shirt. At least, it did until she reached up to fluff her hair, which caused it to move out of the way of the line.

"Diane, don't be shy." Mycroft called from across the room. Everyone else's attention was drawn to her, and she stood a bit frozen. Until Mary came in and gently pushed her through.

"This is Diane?" The grey-haired man asked John. "Well, it's wonderful to finally meet you."

"Uh, hi. Sorry, I don't know-"

"Greg Lestrade."

"Oh, Detective Inspector. It's nice to meet you too. The guys talk about you all the time...well, sort of. Sherlock usually calls you Gavin, or Geoff..."

"Yeah. The prick knows everything else in the world, can't be bothered to remember my name." He groused.

"I am still in the room, you know." Sherlock said from the corner.

"I know." Lestrade said with a grin. "This lovely lady here is Molly Hooper."

"Hello," the mousy woman said.

"Heard a lot about you too. I'm so glad you've been refusing to give Sherlock anymore body parts. His experiments have been bordering on toxic."

"You...you live with Sherlock?" She asked.

"Well, yeah. I'm his flatmate. After John moved out, he needed another one."

"So, how did you know him?" Molly seemed a bit hesitant of her. Sherlock could see that. Diane was like a taller, less timid version of Molly.

"Oh, I'm Mycroft's secretary. He got me the place so he could have someone keep an eye on his baby brother. For all the good it's done him." Diane told her, trying to assuage her fears.

"You do a well enough job keeping up with him." Mycroft told her from his place by the fire.

"Oi, you lot," Mary poked her head around the corner. "Supper. Come on."

Dinner was a rather quite affair. John and Mary sat at the heads of the table, with Lestrade, Molly, and Mycroft on one side, and Diane, Sherlock, and Mrs. Hudson on the other. In that order. Mary had made a wonderful roast with baby carrots and potatoes, and a homemade Caesar salad. No one said much of anything. But, when Mary brought out the dessert, there were many words of amazement at the taste. All but Sherlock, John, and Diane said nothing.

"Mary, this is incredible." Molly praised. "I thought you said you couldn't bake."

"Oh, I don't. Diane brought this. Made the whole thing from scratch." When everyone turned to look at the other woman, her face had flushed a little.

"It's nothing, just a simple recipe that my mom showed me. She doesn't like to bake either, so I was the one who did it instead. At least until I went to college, and then my younger brother, Marcus, took it up. He's got a better grasp on it than I do." She finished with a shy smile and a shrug."

"Well," Lestrade said, taking another bite, "I, for one, think it's delicious. I might have to get the recipe from you."

After that, everyone else went back into the living room, while Diane volunteered to help Mary with the dishes. "You don't need to, dear."

"I know, but you shouldn't do it all by yourself, and I want to help."

"Alright, alright. Here, I'll make the tea, and you can take it out. I'll do the dishes in the morning." The two of them chatted for a few minutes as they waited for the brew to finish. Once it was, Diane took the tray filled up with cups and the teapot with milk and sugar on the side.

"Tea, anyone?" She asked as she came through to the room. Her question was met with sounds of approval from everyone. So, one by one, she poured the tea and passed the cups out.

"You can't be serious, Sherlock." Lestrade groused. "How can _you_ not know what killed them?"

"I know how they died, Inspector. What I don't know is what caused them to be in the circumstances that led to their untimely deaths."

"Sorry, what deaths?" Diane sat down across from them.

"We've had five people come up dead. All of them died a different way, but they had some sort of chemicals in their bloodstreams that they shouldn't have had, in quantities that would have killed them eventually if they hadn't had accidents that did them in first." Sherlock explained. "It's driving me _mad_!

"Well, if you don't know, Molly can't find it, then we may as well be looking for a damn ghost." Lestrade groaned.

"What kind of chemicals?" Everyone stared at her.

Lestrade was the first one to speak. "I highly doubt you could do any better than this clot. I can't even pronounce some of 'em."

"Besides, Diane," Sherlock waved her off, "It's not as if you have the mental qualification to know something scientific that I would miss."

Behind her glasses, Diane's eyes flashed. "Try me, you arrogant asshole."

The detective's turquoise eyes met hers, sizing her up. "Alright then. What could possibly cause people to act manic, delirious, and paranoid; cause vomiting, diarrhea, dizziness, flushed skin, tachycardia, and blurred vision."

"That sounds an awful lot like poisoning." She smirked.

"Yes, it does. But, most singular poisons do not contain atropine, hyoscyamine, scopolamine, scopine, cuscohygrine, and apoatropine, among a whole host of other chemicals that are potentially poisonous to humans. We tested them for the usual ones, to see if it was a mixture. But, it would seem that whatever they took or were given was some sort of naturally occurring...something." Sherlock finished.

She thought for a moment, the atmosphere of the room tense as everyone held their breath, waiting for her to be shot down.

"Well, that's rather simple, isn't it?"

"What?" Sherlock gaped at her.

"Really? How can you _not_ know what it is? Some detective you are." Seeing that everyone was still waiting for the answer, she laughed. "It's not any kind of pharmaceutical poison. It's not rat poison, or anything like that. They were being poisoned with mandrake root."

)0(

 _ **A/N: Gonna stop right there for now, next chappie up soon.**_

 _ **Read and review, my lovelies. Ta-ta.**_

 _ **AcaciaDawn105**_


	15. Chapter 15

_**Chapter Fifteen~ One Up**_

 _ **A/N: OMG! You guys, I just watched another one of Benedict Cumberbatch's TV shows called 'To the End of the Earth' and might I just say, oh good lord above. If you have never watched it, you need to. Very first episode, we get a shower scene, and a sex scene. It is beautiful. It's also on Netflix. Now, on with the show!**_

 _Seeing that everyone was still waiting for the answer, she laughed. "It's not any kind of pharmaceutical poison. It's not rat poison, or anything like that. They were being poisoned with mandrake root."_

)0(

"How could you possibly know that?!" Sherlock spat at the woman sitting across from him. At the sudden venom in his voice, Diane floundered for words.

"Did I not tell you, little brother?" Mycroft spoke with a smile. "My dear secretary here is a Pagan."

"What?" Mary gasped.

"Wait, what does that mean?" Molly asked, unsure of what was going on.

"It means that she believes in the power within oneself," her boss continued, speaking for her. Diane was staring at her lap, where her hands fiddled with a stray thread on her shirt. "And in that of spirits and plants, as opposed to the widespread belief that there is a giant being in the sky who governs all our fates. She controls her own." Diane, for the first time in a long time, felt like an exotic animal in a zoo, being oggled at without shame. She didn't want to look any of them in the face, because she knew they might not look at her the same.

"Yes, but why do you know about the chemical properties of a poisonous plant?" Sherlock asked, not bothering with his brother, he wanted to know from her.

"I've never poisoned anybody if that's what you're asking. I wanted to use mandrake for a ritual. So, I researched it first, made notes. I did that with all the herbs I was planning on buying, that way I knew the right way to handle it without harming myself. And before you ask, yes, I do spells. No, I don't use it to hurt anyone or anything. That's not what Wicca is about."

"You did deep research about a _plant_?" John raised an eyebrow.

"Yes. When I'm interested in something, I research it to get a better understanding of it."

"Enough of all that!" Sherlock grabbed her by the shoulders. "Are you sure about this?" She nodded, leaning slightly away from him. "How can someone procure mandrake?"

"There's hundreds of pagan supply stores on the internet. Anyone of them that sells herbs should have mandrake root. Then there's the people who grow it themselves, if they're lucky enough to get seeds."

"Do you have any?!" When she didn't answer, he shook her, hard. "Answer me! Do you have mandrake root!" He shouted.

"Sherlock!" John tried to pull him off, but was knocked back when the detective shook her again.

"Stop it," Diane tried to pull away, but she was stuck against the chair, and there was no moving Sherlock.

"Just answer the question! Or are you the one that's been poisoning all those people?!" He shouted in her face, bringing tears to her eyes.

With a jolt, Diane brought her knee up, catching him in the groin. Sherlock immediately crumpled in on himself. "You are a horrible person, Sherlock Holmes. First of all, _no,_ I do not have any. And second, even if I did, I wouldn't poison anyone."

From the ground, he tried to push himself up. "I was just-"

"I know what you were doing. Trying to get the answer, as always. And God help anyone who gets in your way." She dug a book out of her bag and threw it at his head. "Look it up. And don't you even think of breaking into my room again to badger me. Because, I promise you, I will be even less cordial than I was just now." Gathering up her purse, she turned to everyone else. "Mary, John, thank you for inviting me. Please excuse me." With that, she darted out of the room.

The door slammed. Mycroft stood from his seat. "Well, good show, Sherlock. Very well done. Tell me, how do you propose to fix it this time?"

)0(

 _Damn him. Damn him all the way to the lowest pit of hell._ Diane had taken a taxi back to the flat. For once, there was no one there at all. Completely quiet. It shocked her that she actually found the lack of noise unnerving, having grown so accustomed to hearing Mrs. Hudson pittering about, Sherlock and John in and out all hours of the day, little explosions from the detective's numerous experiments. She made her way up the stairs past the flat to her room. In the pocket of her jeans, her phone dinged at her.

 _Are you alright? -Mary_

She didn't answer, just opened her door and threw her phone on the bed. It dinged a few more times, but Diane ignored them while she stripped down to her panties. Just as she was pulling her tank top over her head, she heard the door slam. Diane didn't want to deal with any of them, no matter how good their intentions, no matter how many times the thought they could apologize for their friend. She locked the door as the sound of feet came pounding up the stairs. With that done, she finished getting ready for bed by pulling on a pair of shorts.

Whoever it was started knocking on her door.

"Diane?" _Oh, lovely_. "Diane, I know you're in there." That damned voice, deep and rich like honey and velvet. She didn't want to hear it right that moment. The door handle jiggled. "Diane, open the door." She just ignored him, instead deciding to practice her bass clarinet. He kept knocking and calling out to her while she went through the motions of putting cork grease on the links, putting it together, readying her sheet music, sucking on a reed the whole time. After a while everything seemed to go quiet, so she started going through her warm ups.

The door hitting the wall made her jump, causing her make the instrument squeak.

"I told you not to bother me anymore!" Diane yelled. As he made his way across the room, she stood, ready to hit him if need be.

"Let me explain." He held his hands out in a peaceful gesture.

"No. I don't want to let you explain, because I don't care. You and I _just_ got back on the right foot, and then you had to go and fuck it up again." Putting her clarinet against the wall, she moved around him. "Now, get out." She pointed to the door from her dresser. Sherlock watched her start pulling out different pill bottles from her box. When she noticed him staring, she spun around. "I said get out! "

"Not until you let me explain myself." He said calmly.

"I already told you that I know _why_ you did it. I just hate the fact that you _did_."

"I know, and I am so sorry that I let myself get caught up in the moment."

"That's just it, Sherlock! You're _not_ in the moment. Your brain is so far away, constantly thinking ahead to try to catch whatever psycho the police are after. You've never been _just_ in the moment."

Sherlock stopped for a moment, thinking over her words. "Two times."

"What?" Diane's face scrunched in confusion.

"There have been two times, since I have met you, that I have been concerned with nothing more than what was happening _right_ then. Both times, in the same night. You might not believe me when I say that I did not dance with you to frighten you, or irritate you, or anything else that might be going through your mind right now. And nor did I kiss you just to shut you up. And I, truly, sincerely apologize for making you think that it was the case. I am even more sorry that I scared you earlier tonight." Diane had relaxed from her defensive hunch, standing up straight now. Her mind trying to process what he had said. It went against everything she had ever known about this man for him to be this...emotional over the fact that he had upset anyone besides John. "What I have to say next is not the reason I am apologizing, so please, don't get upset and think that it is. I need your help. I apparently do not have the expertise that you do with this sort of case. Quite frankly, I have no idea where to start looking or what I'm even looking for. Now, having said my piece, I will understand if you are still unwilling to speak to me anymore tonight. I only ask that you think it over. Goodnight, Diane." She said nothing as he made to leave. So, he continued out the door.

"Sherlock?" He stopped just outside the door, turning back to the woman who, without her usual heels, looked even smaller than usual.

"Yes?"

"I'm still mad at you," she told him, not-quite-a-smile gracing her lips.

"I know." He responded as he took a step back towards her.

"But, I'm still gonna help you. Just...don't ever accuse me of killing someone again, ok?"

Sherlock chuckled. "I think I can manage that. I am sorry about that."

"Yeah, I know. Look, let me get some sleep, and tomorrow I'll get a list of some sights together and help you weed them out."

"Thank you." Sherlock leaned down to touch his lips to the side of Diane's cheek. "Get some rest."

She watched him go down the stairs until he turned the corner, then closed the door to her room again. Why did that man have to be so infuriating all the time, so utterly insane with his constant mood swings? Diane began picking out some of her vitamins that she needed to take, swallowing them with a mouthful of water from the water bottle she kept beside her bed. Speaking of her bed, Diane noticed that her phone was still laying there, and picked it up to check her messages.

 _Are you alright? -Mary_

 _Where did you go? -Mary_

 _Sherlock left. Let me know if he comes back to Baker Street please. -JW_

 _Please let me know that you're ok. -Mary_

 _Molly and Lestrade said it was nice to meet you and thanks for the pie. -JW_

 _Diane, please answer me! -Mary_

 _John keeps telling me not to worry, but I need to know you're alright. -Mary_

 _Has he apologized yet? -MH_

Diane sighed as she read all the messages she had received in the short amount of time.

 _Mary I'm fine. He managed to get my door open and apologized, so I'll be helping the boys with the case. See you tomorrow._

 _John He's here. Tell them I said they are very welcome and I'm glad they liked it._

 _Mycroft Yes._

Rubbing her face, she flicked off the light and made her way across the room in the dark. When her fingers brushed the end of the bed, she climbed up from the bottom to crawl under the covers. Her phone dinged once more, a message from Mary.

 _Ok, that's good. John says thank you for letting him know. We'll be by tomorrow. Don't kill him before then. -Mary_

She chuckled at that, then put her phone on the charger and set on the bedside table. Hunkering down for the night, Diane touched her fingers to where Sherlock had kissed her cheek. It was warm still. _Christ, what have I gotten myself into?_

)0(

"Nope, nope, screw this!" Diane threw her hands up.

"What's wrong?" John asked as he walked through the door with Mary.

"Ugh!" Pulling her hair from it's band, she ruffled her fingers through it, making it rather messy. Not that she cared, her head hurt and it felt good to scratch her scalp. "This is bloody impossible! There's just too many. Sherlock, there is no way we are going to be able to narrow this down. These people could have all just bought it for various reasons and accidently taken too much."

"No, there's some sort of connection here. We just have to find it. What is mandrake used for?"

"In Wicca or medicine?"

"Both."

Mary sat down beside her friend, handing her a cup of coffee. "Thank god, Mary. You're a saint."

"I try."

"Uses, Diane, quickly."

"Christ, Sherlock." John thumped him on the shoulder.

Diane shook her head. "There's a ridiculous amount of uses in magic." Sherlock groaned at the word. "Look, just because you only believe in science doesn't mean that what I believe is wrong. I personally believe that science and magic go hand in hand. Now, are you going to shut up and let me finish?" The black-haired man pressed his lips into a hard line and waved for her to continue. "In magic, mandrake can be used for spells of fertility, protection of self or home, prosperity, warding off evil or harm of any kind. Historically, it was used to make flying ointment-"

"What's flying ointment?" Mary asked.

"Back during the time of the Salem witch trials, and before, flying ointment was supposed to give the user the ability to fly across the sky. Might have had something to do with the hallucinogenic properties of the plant." She explained. "In medicine it was used to treat melancholy, better known today as depression. It was also supposed to help with convulsions and mania. The only problem is, when taken in larger doses, it makes the crazy worse. Now, as I was telling him a minute ago, there are simply too many websites and herbal stores and so on that sells mandrake root either whole or ground up. Thing is, no one in their right mind would prescribe mandrake for anything nowadays. It's too easy to misuse it."

"So, what you're saying," Sherlock drawled, "Is that you can't help."

"I never said that. Maybe if I had access to their computers, I could check their browser history, emails, that sort of thing."

"But...what if they've deleted it?" The doctor said from the window.

"Computers have a thing that makes them save information deep in the hard drive. Hard to get find, but not impossible. I'll have to ring up my stepdad. Maybe he can walk me through the process."

"Your stepdad? What's he got to do with anything?" Sherlock's brow furrowed at the thought of having to deal with another idiot.

"As a matter of fact, Sean is self taught in building computers and fixing them for other people. He knows what he's doing. So, are you going to get their computers or not?"

The detective sat back in his seat, weighing the pros and cons of involving another person in their investigation. "I'll phone Lestrade."

)0(

Two hours later, Diane had managed to get her stepfather on Skype via her iPad, with all five computers set up in front of her. He knew what they were doing, and knew how important it was that he get his help. Luckily, they had caught him on Saturday afternoon, so he wasn't busy. At some point, Sherlock and John had disappeared after giving her the devices to do what she needed to.

"Alright, let me see what we're working with." He told her with his thick southern drawl. Sean was rather young, several years younger than Diane's mother, but he had been an unfortunate victim of premature hair loss, starting at the age of fifteen. What hair he did have was blonde until it met where his beard started. The stubble there was quite dark. Diane turned the tablet to face the first one. "Ok, nothing too advanced, model's quite recent, but not so much that I don't know it. Alright, here's what you gotta do."

Following his instructions to the letter, she connected it to his program so that Sean could go through and dig up what they were looking for. "Wait, wait what's that? Right there..." She used the mouse pad to take control of the screen. "That right there. I think that's what I need."

"Sean, what are you doing?" Maria Smith's voice floated in from off screen. "Is that Diane?" The woman who was almost the mirror image of the girl sitting on the floor.

"Hi, Mom." She said.

"Hey, baby girl. Haven't heard from you in awhile."

"I know, Mom. I'm sorry, it's just been a crazy couple of months. How are the boys?"

"Great. Darron scored a touchdown at the last football game. Marcus's robotics team came in first place at the meet, and Vincent is gonna be in the Halloween play. I think he's playing a spooky tree."

"That's awesome. Tell them I said good job when they come inside."

"I will. Well, it's good to see, sissy. What are you up to?" At this point, her mother was examining the info on her husband's screen.

"Oh, you know, the usual. Using my skills to help a sociopath find a killer. Saving England and all that jazz."

"Sociopath? Wait, that was the guy you had moved in with, right?" Maria's eyes widened a bit.

"Don't worry, Ma. He's a bit rough around the edges, but he's a good guy. And I didn't _move_ in with him. I'm renting the room upstairs. Flatshare. Makes paying rent a little easier." Diane watched her mother's face turn unbelieving. "No, no, Mom. We are not sleeping together."

"Diane?" At the sound of her name, she turned, seeing Mary back from the store.

"Who's that?" Sean asked.

Mary came up behind her and waved, "That's Mary. John's fiancee. She's a good friend."

"Hi there. Nice to finally put faces to names. Oh, I see you've finally managed to get in." The blonde woman inched closer to check over the information.

"Yeah, now we just need to do the other four. I was about to start writing down the sites."

"Good, good. I'm sure Sherlock will be happy to finally have a lead."

"What lead? What did you find?" The voice came from the doorway.

"Is that him?" Maria asked.

"Yes, Mom." Diane answered with a sigh. "Sherlock, come say hello to the people that made it possible for me to be here helping you."

He scoffed, shedding his coat and scarf. "That's not strictly true, now is it. Considering he is your _step_ -father." On the screen, her parents faces lit up with confusion.

"Be that as it may, they raised me. These two people are the ones who allowed me to be interested and study whatever I wanted. So, get your ass over here and be nice."

"Ugh, nice." He groaned. "Nice is boring." Sulking, he plopped down beside her. "Hello. I am Sherlock Holmes and I share a flat with your daughter. I'm a consulting detective, the only one in the world as I invented the job. Right now, we are trying to solve a string of murders where the victims' deaths were caused by the intake of mandrake root. We're on a bit of a tight schedule, so forgive me if I don't mince words with a school teacher and a construction worker."

" _Sherlock_!" Diane bit out. "Mom, Sean, I am so sorry. He's always like this. He's a bit on edge because he didn't realize that they were being poisoned with mandrake root until I said something about it last night. Poor baby doesn't like it when other people can see things he can't."

From beside her, she heard him mutter, "Poor baby, my arse." To which she responded by elbowing him in the ribs, eliciting a huffed, "Ow."

"Anyway, Sean, if I open the others can you run a program that can cross reference the information to pick out whether or not they all visited the same sites, contacted the same people, stuff like that?"

"It might take a while, but I'm sure I can rig something up. And by the way, Mr. Holmes, I'm not a construction worker."

"And I'm not a school teacher." Maria quipped behind him.

"What?" Sherlock was taken aback. "But it's obvious! Tan line around your upper face and neck, signs of weather wear on your skin. And you," he pointed to her mother. "Smudges of Expo marker on your hand, obvious troubles with your hips, knees, and ankles. You stand on your feet all day."

"I work at a sawmill, smartass." Sean snarked. "Maria here used to be teacher, now she works at a tire shop."

"Oh...my apologies."

Diane's face was cradled in her hands, shaking her head. "Oh god. Just what I needed right now. Guys, I'm sorry. Smarter than Einstein, dumb as a damn rock."

"I'm right here!" Sherlock said indignantly, leaning in so that she could see him.

"Yes, you are, and you are being a child because you're out of your depth here. Now, shut up and let us help," she told him, putting her hand over his face and pushing him out of the way. "Christ. Anyway, let me get the rest of these set up and I'll let you run the program. I've got some other work to do for Mycroft. Text me when it's finished."

"Ok, baby girl. We'll talk to you later. Be good."

Rolling her eyes, Diane said, "Mom, seriously?"

"We worry about you, all the way over there, doing god knows what, hanging out with god knows who. And there was all that crap with Jay-"

"Mom, I'm fine. Mycroft is doing everything he can to make sure Jay is prosecuted for attacking me. Other than that, I am perfectly safe. It's not like I'm actively chasing down criminals. That's his job." Diane pointed to the man still sitting beside her. "I'm just here to make sure he doesn't blow up the flat."

"Blow up?! Diane Rosalie Smith!"

"Gotta go, love you!" Diane quickly hit the end button and flipped the case closed on the tablet.

"Rosalie?" She winced.

"Yeah, my middle name. I hate it." She watched the cursor moving over the other computers one by one.

"I rather like it...it fits you. Don't worry, as middle names go, your's is nowhere near as bad as mine."

"Really? What's your middle name?" As if he hadn't expected her to ask that, he froze up. "I mean, if you don't want to tell me, that's fine. I just thought, since you know mine..." He didn't answer. Instead, Sherlock busied himself with going over the data that was running on the computers. Diane realized she wouldn't get anything else out of him, so she went to her computer where it sat on the table. She stuck her headphones in and started typing up some reports for Mycroft.

 _Sometimes I feel I've got to run away, I've got to get away from the pain you drive into the heart of me. The love we share seems to go nowhere. And I've lost my light, for I toss and turn, I can't sleep at night._

Soft Cell played in her ears and she murmured along, not noticing the man across the room.

 _Once I ran to you. Now I run from you. This tainted love you've given, I give you all a boy give you. Take my tears and that's not nearly all! Tainted love, oh, tainted love._

 _Now, I know I've got to run away, I've got to get away. You don't really want anymore from me. To make things right, you need someone to hold you tight. And you think love is to pray, but I'm sorry, I don't pray that way!_

Her song was interrupted by a movement to her right. When she looked up, Sherlock pulled her headphones out. "Do you know you do that out loud?"

"What?" She asked.

"Sing when you work. You do it out loud."

"And?"

Sherlock floundered for a moment. "Uh, nothing. It's fine, I just...wondered it you did it on purpose." He cleared his throat. "How long do you think before you stepfather finishes compiling the evidence."

"Could be a few hours. He's going back early eight months, so there's a lot of data to go through." He wasn't looking at her, so she looked him over. Sherlock seemed very disheveled. At least, as much as his suave, gentlemanly appearance could look. He kept running a hand through his hair, something she had noticed he did when he was thinking. When her eyes drifted down to his shirt, she started chuckling. "So, do you purposely buy shirts that are a size too small?"

His attention snapped back to her, then down to his chest. "My shirts fit me perfectly fine."

"Right, and that's why the buttons are straining." Diane said, poking the first button on his chest.

Sherlock could feel his heartbeat pick up. "And why are you staring at my chest? Shouldn't you be working...or something?"

"What? A girl can't appreciate when there's a relatively attractive man standing in front of her with a shirt who's buttons look like they're about to pop off?" As she said this, she purposely looked back at her computer with her bangs falling over her face so he couldn't see her.

"Relatively?" He exclaimed.

"Ha," she pointed at him, "Exactly. Not so fun when it's you on the other end of that comment, is it, Sherlock?" The man simply grumbled and leaned down to see what she was doing on the computer. "It's just secretary work. Not like it's anything important."

"Everything you do is important," he said, glancing at her from the corner of his eye.

"And why is that?"

"It just is." Sherlock really didn't have any good reason why he thought this. At least, in his mind, they weren't good reasons. For whatever god damned reason, his brain was trying to make him push that ridiculous curtain of hair away from her face, as she seemed incapable of doing it herself. So, he focused on the computer instead. "This...this is files having to do with Irene Adler..."

"Uh, yeah. Mycroft said she'd been sighted in the country again. Asked me to go through all her files, see who she might go to for shelter, money...or maybe just some of her old playthings. See, I thought she was dead, but apparently she's just very good at disappearing. To be fair, though, she had to have had help."

"Where was she seen?"

"Uh...let me check." With a few keystrokes, a location popped up in the humongous pool of information. "Canvey Island."

"How did you get your hands on this information?" Sherlock straightened up, giving off a strange wave of emotion.

Diane chuckled. "I work for Mycroft, how do you think I got it? I don't know. One of his informants brought it to him, I just put it in the database. Lord knows what kind of havoc that woman could cause if she came back."

"Yes..." Her attention was brought back to the man beside her, he seemed distant.

"Are you ok, Sherlock?"

"What? Yeah, fine." He said altogether far to quickly. "Um, don't you have work today?"

She gave him a 'what the hell' look. "No... It's Sunday, Sherlock. I have to go to work tomorrow though. Are you sure you're alright? You look a little pale..."

"I said I'm fine." He shouted. Diane stared at him with an open mouth as he yanked his coat off of the hook behind the door and stomped down the stairs.

As soon as he was gone, Diane grabbed her phone and called the only person she could at that moment. "Mycroft, you sly bastard. You put that information in my hand purposely, didn't you?"

"Whatever do you mean, my dear?"

"The Woman. You knew I would tell him what was going on."

"I had an inkling, yes. To your benefit, it took you much longer than I thought it would."

"I wasn't going to tell him anything, but he saw what I was working on with my computer. Look, the point is, he's run off."

"Oh, my. Well, the only thing we can do for the moment is wait for him to return. Like a dog to his food bowl."

"That's very cruel, sir. He _is_ your brother."

"Yes, and as such I derive certain liberties when it comes to tormenting and/or threatening him. Anyway, it's not as if he can do anything to help her. She's gone off grid again. How goes the investigation?"

"Got my best man on the job of scrounging up what we can, sir."

"Good, that's good. Listen, I need you to get John and Mrs. Hudson, and I need you to search the flat for me."

"Of courses, sir. But, what are we looking for?" The secretary inquired

"What indeed. Do me a favor, and you be the one to check his room. I would prefer that if something were found, it be by you."

"Yes, sir. I understand." Diane hung up the phone, and realized that John was standing in the doorway. "We need to search the flat."

"Why, what's happened?" He asked, stepping forward. Diane turned her computer so that he could see the screen. "Oh, bugger. Alright. Where do you want to start?"

"I'll take the kitchen and his bedroom. You look around in here."

"Ok."

Knowing how Sherlock was, Diane immediately dragged a chair to the cabinets and searched the tops of them and the highest shelves. That may have been one of his few advantages over her, that he was so damn tall. Working her way down, leaving no cup unsearched, no plate or bowl lifted, she continued into the bathroom. Though, she highly doubted that he had anything hidden in there. But, she searched it thoroughly none the less. When that came up clean, she poked her head out to make sure John was still busy. When she was assured he was, she ducked into Sherlock's bedroom and stopped. Despite all the times that man had broken into her room, she had never once set foot in his. It was almost like a sacred space, the one place that no one ever bothered him.

She smiled at the poster of the periodic table on the wall behind the door. It was certainly him. Looking about her, Diane noticed that it was quite Spartan, considering the way that the rest of the house looked. His bed was neatly tucked in, no clothes on the floor, very tidy for such a messy man. So, starting in the corner, she felt her way around the edge of the periodic table, moving to his bedside table. _Maybe John should be doing this_. She mused. It felt like a grave violation of privacy, going through his things like this. Taking a deep inhale through her nose, she opened the drawer. She was pleasantly surprised to find that it was not bare as she had expected it to be. A few battered looking notebooks lay among a mass of pens. A single hair comb was in there as well, along with what appeared to be a bottle of cologne. Diane took the cap off and raised it to her nose, smiling at the scent that she had come to know as Sherlock. Replacing it, she moved the books. And gasped. Underneath the mess, there was a pair of handcuffs laying right next to a pack of condoms.

"Prepared, are we, Mr. Holmes?" Diane shook her head, and put everything back as it had been.

She checked the pillows, finding no strange bulges or hard places. Lifting the mattress, she found nothing under it either, and put it down, tucking the sheets back in. Under the bed was no different. In his wardrobe, she thought she had found something, though it turned out to be nothing more than a box of ties. _Strange. I've never seen him wear a tie..._ The thought was shaken off and the box returned it to it's small hidden place on the shelf. The chair in the corner had no patches, but Diane knew that Sherlock was wiley enough to sew a hole back into place. So, she patted it down, feeling nothing but stuffing. When she got to his dresser, she hesitated again. _Oh, lord, if my mother could see me now, rooting around in a man's underwear._ Pushing her unease, she pulled them out, one by one. Of course, she was on a mission, but she couldn't help but take notice of the articles within. _Boxer briefs. Nice. I took him for a boxer man. Although, with the type of pants he wears, I guess he can't really wear stuff like that._ Diane took the time to run her hands under the bottoms of the drawers just to make sure.

Diane smiled again when she saw the rather silly picture of the Holmes brothers shaking hands. It must have been when they were much younger, as they didn't quite seem to detest each other as much. Sherlock's face was excited, both hands over his brother's. And Mycroft, in his full haired glory, looked less severe and not at all miffed at having to stand for a picture. With a small laugh, she put it down and moved on to the bookshelf. Here, she was at a loss. Diane didn't want to have to take all the books off, because she would never manage to put them back right. Instead, she took to pushing on the books one by one until she thought she felt something. On the bottom shelf, she stopped. _Why does Sherlock have a sketchbook_? Pulling it out, she sat criss cross on the ground and flipped through it. Some of it looked like mathematical equations having to do with fall heights, bullet angles, and so on. It all seemed very much like something he would do in his spare time. Occasionally, there would be a doodle here and there, mostly nonsensical things, some things like birds or people in the park. Eventually, she came across the first picture of a face she had come to know. John. Sherlock had drawn him, probably from memory, as John would never sit still for something like this. There were pictures of him sitting in his chair, reading the paper, laughing, even one where he looked furious.

Diane's heart sunk like a stone when she flipped the page to an image of John sobbing at a grave. Sherlock's grave. Underneath it was written: _One more miracle, for me, Sherlock. Don't be dead._ In neat, loopy handwriting. She felt her eyes well up. His last words to his best friend. At least, until it turned out that his best friend was, in fact, not dead. Needing to shake off the feeling of extreme sadness, she continued, and laughed at the next one. The look of surprise on the doctor's face as he sat at a table in a crowded restaurant, Mary in the background, looking at him as well. This must have been when he first came back. The next one surprised her. It was a picture of Diane, standing in the middle of the living room, the shadow of a bruise adorning the side of her face. _His first impression of me_. After that, it looked like a point of view drawing of when she tried to punch him when he had sniffed her hair. The next, her sitting in her bed, hair disheveled, looking like she'd just woken up. _That day he woke me up with his violin..._ There were several more, all of her, with a few of John and Mary, and even Mycroft and Mrs. Hudson.

The last one in the book made Diane's eye widen in surprise. She was laid out on the floor, hands held over her head. _The fight_. She took in the detail in which Sherlock had drawn her, down to the braids in her hair, which was splayed around her head in a halo, and the lashes around her eyes. This couldn't be her. She was not that...that beautiful. No, the woman in the picture had to be someone else. But, who else had a beauty mark on their right cheek like she did, or the slight overlapping tooth on second to the left? Who else could have been wearing those earrings and that necklace, and that particular design of lace from her bra slipping out from under her shirt? Was this how he had seen her that night? Pupils blown wide, and lips slightly parted as the look of anger faded out and something else trickled in.

"Find anything?" Diane slammed the book shut as John called from the hall. Hiding it under the bed, she stood up just as he made it to the door.

"Um, no, nothing. Not a damn thing."

John sighed. "Yeah, alright. As far as I know, if it's not here, it's somewhere else." He stared at Diane's face. "Are you alright? You look a bit flushed."

"Hm? Oh, I'm fine. I got a bit distracted looking at the books, blood rushed to my face when I bent down to look through them." She lied quickly.

"Right..." He didn't quite seem convinced. "Well, I'm gonna go check out his usual haunts, see if he showed up anywhere."

"Yeah, great. Sounds like a plan. Do you mind to call Mycroft and tell him we didn't find anything? I've got to get ahold of Sean and see if he found anything."

"Course. I'll let you know if I find him, alright?" She just nodded.

Waiting until she heard the door downstairs close, Diane let out the breath she hadn't known she'd been holding. She bent down to retrieve the sketchbook and place it back in it's spot. But, when she did, she felt the book hit something on the bottom of the shelf that caused the top to tip back. Removing it and a few other books, she found what she had been dreading.

)0(

Hours later, Sherlock returned to Baker Street. He had spent the evening walking all over London, trying to clear his head of the images that ran through it. Not bothering to take off his coat, he looked around the flat. Someone had been looking for something.

"John? Diane?" He called out. No one answered. The detective's eyes darted everywhere, observing clues. It wasn't an intruder. No, they weren't usually worried with putting things back, and there was nothing missing. The fire was still going in the fireplace, so the tenants couldn't have been gone long. There was a chair from the kitchen table pushed up against the counter, like someone had been trying to reach something too high for them. _Probably Diane_. He continued on through his room, but stopped when he saw the door was partially open. Cautiously, he pushed it open, sighing in relief when it was only his flatmate. "What are you doing in here?"

Diane was sitting on his bed, a drawn look on her face. In her lap, sat his sketchbook, which gave him a start. "I called Mycroft after you left." Sherlock scoffed. "He said that we should search the flat, didn't say what for." Her hands opened to reveal a syringe and a dime bag of heroin. "Found these behind the sketchbook." The woman still hadn't looked at him yet.

"Diane..." How could he possibly explain something like that. To be honest, the knowledge that he had hidden away some is what had kept him from ending up in a drug den.

"I thought you quit." There was a quaver to her voice. "I thought you said you had found a new way not to think."

"I had, but..."

"But, you are ever the addict, Sherlock." With that, she stood and pushed past him, taking the drugs and book with her.

"I am _not_ an addict. I'm a user." He stated as he followed her into the living room.

"There's no difference, Sherlock!" She yelled, spinning around to meet him. "You just can't stop yourself! You lie to your friends, to your family. You say you're ok, but you're _not_! There is nothing good that can come of using _this_!" At her words, she held up the drugs. "You don't need these, Sherlock, you're stronger than that." Without missing a beat, she threw the dimebag and the syringe into the fire, which caused it to flare up and give off an acrid smoke.

Sherlock shouted, trying to snatch it from her before she let go, but missed. "Damn you, woman!" He shouted in her face. "Why must you always be so interfering?"

" _Me_?! You're blaming _me_ for this? You're the one who's ruining your life with that shit, not me!" Sherlock stopped to consider her words.

"Why the hell were you rooting around my things anyway?" He hissed.

"Mycroft asked me to. He said that if it was anywhere, it would be where no one else goes. He said that I should be the one to find it, instead of John." Diane's chest was heaving. Now that he was looking at her, fully, Sherlock saw that the waver in her voice had been from the tears that welled up in her eyes. "I'm glad he did, because I don't think John could forgive you for this."

"Oh, and you can?"

She raised her chin to the venom in his words. "As a matter of fact, I can. Addiction is not new to me, Sherlock. You are not the first person who I have helped through something like this."

"And what exactly is _this_ , Diane?" He swung his hand between them. "What do you think it is? You think I'm some sort of poor lost soul for you to guide into the light? Because I'm not!"

"I know you aren't, Sherlock." She told him quietly, her voice drawing his temper down. "You're lost, yeah. But, you don't need the light. You don't need an angel to guard you in your weakest moments, because you don't have any. Isn't that right?"

"Exactly," Sherlock moved away from her. "I don't need you, or John, or any of them."

"Because you do so well on your own." He could hear the sadness, the pity in her voice.

Sherlock punched the wall, putting a dent in the plaster. Behind him, Diane yelped. "I don't need your pity." Offhandedly, he noticed that his knuckles were throbbing.

"I know." She was right behind him now. Tentatively, Diane put her hand on the tall man's back, feeling the tension roiling in the tensed muscles. "I know." Inch by inch, she moved closer, her small hand running along his broad shoulders. "That's not what you need."

Sherlock grabbed hold of her and forced her against the same wall he had just hit. "What the hell do you know?" He growled.

Diane watched him, the way his face twisted in what could only be pain. His entire body was coiled like a piano wire, and his hands hard on her arms. "I know that you hate being the smartest man in the world. I know that you hate the fact that you can't have _one_ normal relationship, because you don't see people like that. John is the closest thing to a relationship you've ever had and it scares the living shit out of you. He has already been used against you once, and Mrs. Hudson and Detective Inspector Lestrade. I know that you think that pushing people away is the only way to keep yourself safe. And I know that you are afraid of what will happen, because you _are_ letting them warm that cold heart of yours." With every word, his hands got less and less tight, but he never moved away. "I know that you are in pain. And I know that you absolutely hate yourself right now."

"How could you _possibly_ know that?" He spat.

"It's written all over your face, Sherlock." Slowly, Diane raised her hand to his cheek. "In every muscle of your body, you hate yourself because you know you're letting John down. Because you know you're letting _me_ down."

"Why would it matter to me what you think?" Again, his hands held her against the wall.

With some trouble, she opened the book that was still locked in her grasp and held it up. The last picture he had drawn of her. "You only draw things you care about." Diane gulped, trying to swallow around the lump in her throat. "And you _do_ care."

Sherlock ripped the sketchbook from her hands and threw it across the room, pinning her on the wall again. Instead of his hands, however, it was his kiss that held her. Diane made a surprised noise in her throat, but didn't pull away. Her hands made their own way to his face, one moving to the hair at the nape of his neck. Where his hands touched, they left a trail of fire. Up and down her sides, finally settling one around her waist, pulling her closer, the other traveling up to take a fistful of her hair. The resounding gasp gave him open invitation to slip his tongue past her lips. The two of them stood there for a moment, locked in a battle for dominance.

In one, easy move, Sherlock slipped his arm under her thighs and lifted her higher, never breaking the kiss. The position made her grab hold of his shoulders, as he held her there by her ass and her legs came around his waist to give her some stability. She gasped again when she felt his obvious need grinding against her core, triggering her body's innate response. He kissed his way down her throat, her back arched, pushing her chest out to him when he got to the opening of her shirt.

They stayed like this, intertwined around each other, for several minutes, until the both of them were breathless and flushed. Diane leaned her forehead against his, one arm still wrapped around his shoulders, the other stroking his hair and face. "It's ok." She whispered, pulling his head to her chest "It's alright."

As if losing what was left of his strength, Sherlock set her on her feet. And the pair of them crumpled to the floor in a heap of limbs. Diane's back was pressed to the wall, Sherlock still between her legs, but just curled up with his ear to her heart. "You were right."

She chuckled at his statement. "I know." Dropping a kiss to his forehead, she did her best to comfort him. "It's not easy. Sometimes, you just have to learn to roll with the punches." Tightening her arms around him, Diane soothed away his tension. "This is just one of those times."

Sherlock didn't sob, as a normal man might have. But, Diane could feel a wet spot from the one or two tears he did allow himself to shed. They sat there for what seemed like hours, Diane murmuring soft words in his ear.

)0(

That was how John found them, some time later. Both asleep in the corner of the room. Though he shut the door as quietly as possible, the detective woke up. Seeing the smirk on his friend's face, he groused, "Shut up."

"I didn't say anything."

Sherlock shot him a glare, before stooping to pick Diane up bridal style, and carry her up to her own room. When he glanced at the clock on her nightstand, he realized it was quite late. _No wonder she's passed out_. Sherlock took her shoes off, along with her sweater and glasses, before tucking her under the duvet. He looked down at her, studying how her face eased in slumber, and bent to kiss her forehead, and turning to leave. Upon reentering the flat, John still had a smug grin. Sherlock glanced around, noticing the sketchbook still laying on the floor. He crossed the room and scooped it up. "Shut up." He said again.

"I didn't say anything, Sherlock. You had us all worried, her more so, I'd bet. Where did you run off to?"

"Needed to clear my head." He responded simply.

"Right. Well, I'm glad you're alright, Sherlock. I'll just pop off then, Mary's got leftovers for dinner. G'night." The doctor patted his friend's shoulder as he passed. "Bloody thick git." Sherlock smirked at the insult. He was little less enthused to hear John call out, "Mrs. Hudson, you own me thirty quid!"

Sherlock's eyes rolled as he went back to his bedroom, ignoring the cries of the landlady downstairs.

)0(

 _ **A/N: Whew, another one finally finished! So, watcha think? I had such a hard time writing this damn thing. Eventually, it flowed well enough to write coherently.**_

 _ **Read and review, my lovelies. Next one up ASAP**_

 _ **AcaciaDawn105**_


	16. Chapter 16

_**Chapter Sixteen~ Catch Me If You Can**_

The next day, Diane was tapping furiously away on her computer. She had already been to work that morning, and had gotten about three hours of work in when Mycroft had come out and told her that he was taking her home. Once there, he told her to check her email, as if he already knew there was something of importance. Of course, he probably did. Sure enough, her stepfather had emailed her a concise list of all the same/similar websites that all five victims visited sometime in the eight months before their deaths. There were a lot...it took Diane an hour to read through all of the websites. At first it didn't really look like they had been to any of the same online herbal vendors, so she went over it again. By two o'clock that afternoon, with Mycroft breathing down her neck the whole time, she threw her hands up.

"Christ Almighty, Mycroft! Do me a favor and go sit the hell down. Where the hell is your brother? Why isn't he here?"

"How in the world should I know?" Mycroft sneered. "I am not his keeper."

"Yes, you are." Rubbing her eyes, Diane got up to make some more tea, seeing as her boss had already drank an entire pot of it. "Where is he?"

"Off interrogating one of the shop owners your little list has offered up. I imagine that the bathroom is a touch cleaner than usual, seeing as you've been around."

"I resent that statement, but yes, it is." She shot a look at his back as he made his way past her and into the hallway. It was unusual for Mycroft to use the bathroom in the flat, mostly because neither Sherlock, or John were really all that good with cleaning. Especially Sherlock. As the electric kettle boiled away, she thought back to that morning, having woken up in her bed when the last thing she remembered was falling asleep on the floor in the living room. Her flatmate must have carried her to her room. Downstairs, she heard the door open and shut, and hesitant footsteps coming up the stairs. Diane waited. It had to be a client, no one else would be so slow on the steps. With this knowledge, she set the tray for three instead of two. The sound of shoes stopped on the landing outside, and it was silent for a moment. Three quick raps on the wood, and she was rounding the corner to open it. "Hello. Can I help you?"

A nervous looking young man stood there, wringing his hands and flicking his sandy blond hair out of his eyes. "I, um...I'm looking for Mr. Holmes. I heard about him, thought maybe he could help me."

"Of course. Please come in." She stood back to allow him to enter. "May I ask your name?""

"Curtis, miss. Curtis Boris."

"Well, Mr. Boris, I have to tell you that Mr. Holmes is-"

"Right here." Mycroft stood at the kitchen door, pulling his gloves on. "And just how did you find me here, sir?"

Curtis was taken aback at the sight of the tall man looming there, and stuttered for a moment. "You look different in your photographs, sir."

Diane rolled her eyes. "That's because this is the other Holmes brother, Mycroft. He's looking for Sherlock." She told him. "As I was saying, Mr. Holmes is not here at the moment. I'm his associate, Diane Smith. Please, sit down." Gesturing to her usual armchair (as Sherlock would have a fit if a client sat in his), she went back into the kitchen to finish making tea. "Are you staying, Mycroft?"

"I'm afraid not. I've got a bit of important business to attend to. Have a lovely day."

While the tea finished steeping, Diane sent a very brief message to Sherlock. _Client_. Was all she said. His response was speedy. _10 minutes._

"Mr. Holmes will be back shortly. In the meantime, why don't you tell me why you're here?" She said, setting the tray down and offering one of the cups. Curtis quickly heaped two large spoonfuls of sugar into his teacup and shakily took a few sips to calm himself. Diane, having nowhere else to sit, perched herself on the arm of Sherlock's chair with her own cup and waited.

"Well, you see, it's like this. I keep up with the news, religiously. All kinds of news. Crime stories have always been my favorite, sort of an adventure in print."

"Of course," she smiled kindly to him. "Many people are much the same. In fact, that's where most of Mr. Holmes's clients come from."

"Right! That Watson bloke, the one that posts all their crimes on his blog. See, that's where my friend told me to go look. I checked up on him at his website too, but most of it went over my head."

"As it does with most people," Diane and Curtis were both rather startled to hear Sherlock's voice from the door. John passed by his friend and slipped off his jacket, introducing himself to the other man.

"That was quick. You said ten minutes."

"Light traffic," the detective explained. "Why are you on my seat?" He narrowed his eyes at her.

Rolling her eyes, she made to get up. "Sorry. I didn't have anywhere else to sit."

"No, no. It's...it's fine." Sherlock had picked up the last cup, and held a hand out for her to stay where she was. "Right!" Sitting down, unusually graceful, he took a sip from his cup. "Why don't you start from the beginning. And spare us all the usual drivel." Diane swatted his shoulder, at the same time giving the client a smile.

"What Mr. Holmes _means_ ," she ground out, giving him a pointed look. "Is why don't you go ahead with your story. Please."

"Oh, right. Well, I heard about all these strange deaths that the police are stumped with. You know, the ones where all the people seemed to have died completely different, but had all the same stuff."

"How could you possibly know that?" Sherlock scoffed. "Those specificities haven't been released to the press. Who have you been talking to?"

Curtis put his free hand up. "No one, sir, honest! It's all over the web. Just you look."

"Sherlock," Diane nudged his shoulder. When he turned his head, she was offering him her phone, showing him that there was indeed sensitive information from the case already leaked to the public. "This is bad. You should call Lestrade and have him look into this."

"No point in bothering with it now."

John, who had gone into the kitchen to retrieve another cup for his own tea, also pulled up another chair for him to sit in with the other three. "Alright, so, Mr. Borris. You've been following the investigation?"

"Yeah, yes. Yes, I have. Anyway, I read somewhere that it was possible they'd been poisoned. Well, I've got this friend, see. Robert. Runs a herbal shop 'round here. I told him I'd been having a rough time of it lately."

"Yes, divorce does tend to cause emotional stress." Sherlock said, trying to hurry him along. "Or so I'm told. Get on with it."

"Well, he...I don't rightly know, Mr. Holmes. I told him that my doctor had tried to put me on some sort of antidepressant. God knows what they put in that stuff, if you follow me. So, he recommended this herbal remedy, said it would make me feel better without all the side effects. Offered to give it to me free of charge."

"Did you take it?" John inquired.

"Course I did. I wasn't 'bout to pass up free medicine. Do you know how expensive that crock is? And all it does is give you something else for the docs to put you on another pill. Anyway, Robbie told me to make it into a tea, gave me all the proper directions."

Diane cut in, much to the chagrin of the man sitting beside her. "Did he tell you what it was?"

"No, miss. Just told me it would help. So, I started taking it. Thing is, right off the bat, something just didn't feel right. I tried to confront Robbie 'bout it, but he wouldn't see me. Been ignoring my calls, blowing me off when I come 'round the shop. I'm really worried here, Mr. Holmes. I think my friend might have been the one who's been killin' all those folks."

"So, why not bring it to the police?" Asked the soldier.

"Nah, I couldn't do that to him. Bad enough I've even thought that he could be hurting people. Robbie's an alright sort of guy, you know." The statement was halted when the dark-haired man snorted, earning another hard glare from the woman sitting on the arm of his chair. "I just need to know for sure. I don't want to get the police involved, in case it wasn't him. If it is...well, I think I'll sleep a little better for trusting my gut."

"Yes, thank you, Mr..."

"Borris." Diane whispered to him.

"Mr. Borris. Diane will take down your information, and any you can give us on your friend. Now, if you'll excuse me, detective work to be done." The woman in question stared at him for a moment, before shaking her head and grabbing up the notebook that John had been taking notes in, and leading the new man out the door.

"I'm sorry about him. Mr. Holmes can be a bit...much, sometimes. I can guarantee you, sir, we will do everything we can to help you clear any suspicions that you may have of your friend." She offered him the notebook and a pen.

"Thank you. Thank you, so much. You have no idea how much of a comfort that is. I'd hate to have told all this to the police and ended up getting him arrested. I mean, what if it isn't him?" He mused as he scribbled down as much information as he could think of. "I don't think he'd ever forgive me if I'd done something like that."

"I think you'd be surprised, Mr. Borris. People have a way of proving us wrong."

"Curtis, please. I can't tell you how much better that makes me feel. So, have you been helping Mr. Holmes for very long?" He asked, following her down the stairs.

The sudden change of subject threw her a little bit, but not so much that she was speechless. "No, not really. I actually work for his brother, the one that was here earlier. I only met Sherlock a few months ago. I live upstairs." She added, gesturing upwards.

"Really? What's that like? I've heard he's a right terror."

"Oh, he's not so bad. Sure, there are some times I want to throttle him, but he does his best to try to work with me." _Sometimes,_ she thought to herself. _Sometimes he's the most inconsiderate bastard that ever lived._

"Well, I best be off. It was wonderful to meet you, Miss Smith."

"Diane. And it was nice to meet you, too, Curtis." Though she could feel eyes boring into her back, she did her best to smile as she showed the man out, promising to call if they found anything. Once the door closed, she let out a long breath. "Any particular reason you're staring me down, Sherlock? And what was that, sending me down here like I'm some kind of assistant?"

The detective had been watching the conversation from the landing, and sniffed at being caught eavesdropping. "Not really. You are a secretary, after all. He seems to have taken a fancy to you."

"Really? I didn't notice." She smirked to herself, patting his shoulder as she continued past him up the steps. "John, sorry to have just snatched this up like that." Handing his notebook back, Diane poured herself another cup of tea and settled into the armchair. It felt strange to sit in it after someone else had just recently been there.

"No problem."

"It is a bit of a problem," Sherlock snapped, pulling something from between the pages. It looked to be a business card. "At least it would be if one of my associates suddenly decided to begin _dating_ a client." A flick of the wrist, and he sent the card flying into her lap.

Diane's eyebrows furrowed. Picking it up, they shot up to her hairline. On the front was the usual name, number, and business logo. The back, however, had a personal number on it, and a note saying for her to call him. "Oh, well that's just ridiculous."

"Isn't it just?" The tall man sniffed. John looked back and forth at them, smelling trouble a mile away. In an effort to be out of the firing range, he ducked out from between them. "I mean, really, why in the world would he even think-"

"Think what, Mr. Holmes?" Diane stood up, daring him to say what she thought he was about to say. "Go on, then."

Taking this as a challenge, Sherlock straightened up, not noticing his best friend off to the side shaking his head ever so slightly. "It just simply astounds me that he would think to attempt to ask you on a _date._ "

"And may I ask, why is that?"

At this, John started shaking his head even more vigorously, trying to get his friend's attention to warn him against what he was about to say. "Well, then again, I suppose it's really not all that surprising, seeing as you _are_ a secretary."

Diane's eyebrows shot up even further. "Excuse me? Exactly what are you implying?"

"Oh, come on. Isn't it obvious? I really would have thought that it would have been rather simple." Behind Diane, John put his hand up to his face.

After a moment, the woman's face fell into a tightened mask of fury. "Oh. I see. You're referring to the whole 'sexy secretary that teases every man she meets'." Her voice had taken on a tone of rough sarcasm. "Am I right?" Neither man answered her. "Really? That's what you think of me? That is a stupid porn cliché and you know it good and well, Sherlock Holmes! God, what a fucking misogynist, pig-headed-"

"Don't pretend you didn't notice him making eyes at you."

"He wasn't making eyes at me, you idiot. And before you say it, neither was I. We were being _nice_. Making eye contact and trying to keep a pleasant face is _not_ flirting. It's being human beings." Diane turned in her spot and threw the business card into the fireplace, then moved to leave the flat. "Honestly, of all the stupid things to-"

"So, your saying you wouldn't go out with him if he happened to offer?" Sherlock asked sarcastically.

"As a matter of fact, Sherlock, I would not have. He's a client. I don't even know him. And if what you said held any truth, he's newly divorced. I'm not really in the mood to be anyone's rebound. And besides that..." She trailed off, taking a breath to calm down. "You know what. Nevermind. No point in arguing with you. If you need me for something, I'll be upstairs."

Once she was gone, John gave out a huffed laugh. The taller man turned around, confused. "What?"

"Seriously, Sherlock. You're getting jealous over the fact that another bloke fancied her."

"I'm not jealous. Why would I be jealous? I have absolutely no reason to feel jealous. Such a mundane, normal, boring thing. What are you even still doing here?"

John stared at him for a moment. "Right, well. I suppose I'll be off. If you don't mind, ask Diane if _Citadel Herbs_ is on the list of places or websites the victims visited. And do me a favor, fix that," he pointed towards the door, where she had just left. "Be nice."

"Ugh, nice."

"I'm serious, Sherlock. I don't know what happened between the two of you yesterday, but it seemed to me like you were getting along alright. Diane's right. She was just being herself, so try not to get so pissy about it, alright? Lord only knows she's a damn saint to have put up with you as long as she has, and you know very well that you fancy her just as much as the man that just walked out the door does. Don't try denying it, Sherlock. It's alright to have feelings." Sherlock stood in silence as his friend continued. "And if I'm right, then she might just care enough about _you_ , you clot-head, to forgive you for being so damn stupid and analyitcal about whatever is happening. Did you ever do something nice for her?"

The detective looked at him like a deer in the headlights, to which John just sighed. He flipped open his notebook and scribbled something short on it before ripping it out and handing it to him. "She likes lilies."

Sherlock simply stared at the piece of paper in his hand, trying to understand. When the words finally clicked, he grinned. "Stargazer."

John's eyebrows crinkled and he watched his friend for a moment, then shook his head. "I have no idea what that means."

"Hmm? Oh, nothing. It's nothing." John shook his head again while shrugging on his coat, waved briefly at Sherlock, then made his way down the steps. "How interesting."

)0(

Sherlock was smart enough not to bother her for the rest of the day, except to send her a text asking if a shop called Citadel Herbs was on her list. Her short and not so sweet response was very simply _Yes_. She didn't even bother to go down for dinner. Instead she elected to stay in her room with her laptop and a carton of strawberry banana yogurt, and continue with the work she had been doing at the office before being so rudely called away. It took her most of the day, but she managed to get more than caught up. She actually finished up all of the paperwork that had been pending and waiting for her to file away. Even the newest information on the Woman was caught up and done.

For a while, Diane was stuck staring at a picture of the mysterious Irene Adler. Of course, all she had to do was go to her website. All over it were pictures of her scantily clad in black, always in a provocative pose. It seemed that this woman was nothing if not a dominatrix. Her crystalline grey eyes bore into her even from the screen of her computer., beckoning her to spill every secret, every nitty-gritty detail of her soul.

 _This_ was the woman who almost brought down the British government. And more impressively...

 _This_ was the woman who almost brought down Sherlock Holmes.

 _Know when you are beaten_.

Those words glared up at her, taunting her. Maybe it was just because they had beaten her once, but it seemed that the Holmes brothers weren't really all that interested in apprehending her. Diane, on the other hand, wouldn't have trusted this women as far as she could spit her. Something about Irene Adler just sang _'Don't Trust Me_ '. But, Diane couldn't really do anything. She was only a secretary. At this point, Mycroft probably wouldn't have been able to do anything.

She was going to let him know her suspicions the next day anyway.

)0(

"Sir, how can you say that it's _not_ a priority?! Irene Adler is as much of a threat to this country as Moriarty's men are. More so, if she ever manages to get back in with some of her old bedmates."

"Perhaps. But, at the moment, she is not even in the vicinity of any of them, and we have her under _very_ close watch. She won't be coming back to London anytime soon, my dear. Now, how goes the search for our murderous herbalist?"

Diane rolled her eyes at the terrible pun, but set a file down on his desk anyway. "Robert McLaren. 28 years old, originally from Scotland, family moved to London when he was 10. Father, Tarmond, now deceased, worked in a factory; mother, Bella, worked part time as a waitress, now runs a daycare. He has one older sister named Marissa, currently a registered nurse at St. Thomas Hospital; and a younger brother, Lyle. Currently unemployed. Robert himself worked with his mother alongside other odd jobs here and there, until he saved up enough money to start his own business. Work history spotless, no arrests, no convictions. The only black mark is a fight in high school. Saw a younger kid getting bullied, tried to stop it, ended up in the hospital with a broken nose and knuckles, busted lip, and a concussion."

"Seems quite the good fellow, eh?"

"Yes, he does, sir."

Mycroft must have noticed the way she pressed her lips together and focused her gaze on the corner of his desk, because he shifted in his seat to face her more. "What is it?"

Diane looked up at him, blinking. "Nothing, sir?"

"Diane," he chastised. "You've been here long enough to know that you cannot hide much of anything from me. Now," pointing to the chair across from him with his eyes, he beckoned her to sit. "What is troubling you?"

Taking a moment to gather her thoughts, she did as she was bade and sat down. "Well...it's just as you said, sir. He seems too...nice? Good? Nothing about this man points to him being a killer. And I know, most are messed up in the head and don't really need a reason. But, there's usually environmental things that factor into what they do. Before opening his business, McLaren was a star pupil and worker. He went above and beyond to help people around him. He took night classes to become certified to prescribe herbal supplements to people. He's been squeaky clean his whole life. There are always signs of homicidal tendencies long before hand, usually in childhood. So, why now? Why only now have something show up?"

"Something could have happened to him recently. Lost a loved one, been rejected by a romantic interest. I've heard that can lead to homicidal tendencies."

Diane leveled him with a look. "Sir, please. Something is telling me that this isn't our killer. Maybe he's just an innocent bystander that is getting mixed up in bad stuff because of the overactive imagination of his friend. Mr. Borris did say that he was a fan of crime stories. Maybe he wants to be a hero?"

"Be that as it may, we still have to exhaust every option, Diane. I wish I could say that listening to our gut is always a good idea, but it isn't...not always. Now, I believe you have work to do."

He was dismissing her. That she was used to, but to do so in such a cold way, completely blowing off anything she said...something was wrong. Mycroft Holmes was hiding something.

)0(

 _ **A/N: Ugh! Finally! Sorry it took so long you guys. I've been having so many other things going on. It's been a long time coming, and I'm up at 1:25 to finish this for you. BUT, at least I got this up in time for Halloween. Happy Samhain, my lovelies. Read and review, let me know what you think.**_


	17. Chapter 17

_**Chapter Thirteen~ Catch Me If You Can Pt. 2**_

After much deliberation the next morning, Diane finally managed to force herself down the stairs and into the flat. Luckily though, it seemed her housemate was nowhere to be seen. Entering through the hall door into the kitchen, the smell of fresh coffee beckoned her. His door, however, was slightly ajar, showing that he wasn't in there. Sherlock only ever closed his door when he was in there, or he was hiding something. The bathroom door was open and the light off, so he wasn't in there either. Considering it was only 9 a.m. it was surprising that he was out and about at all. However, he couldn't have been gone very long, as the coffee had only just finished brewing. That was good for her. Once he left the building, Sherlock was liable to be gone for hours, maybe even the whole day. Not that it mattered. He wanted to run around and play detective all day, well, she had some detective work of her own to do. Diane grabbed her coffee cup and poured the black gold into it, then turned towards the fridge to doctor it, and froze. A note was held at _her_ eyelevel with one of the magnets.

 _John and I have gone out to follow the newest lead. Since you're not going to work today, try not to blow up the flat in our absence._

 _-SH_

With a wry laugh, Diane ripped the note from the slick metal surface so hard the magnet went flying through the door and hit the wall next to Yorick. The paper went into the trash and she continued her previous quest to obtain caffeinated glory.

)0(

"So, Mr. McLaren, what can you tell us about your...quaint little shop?" Sherlock pressed, looking around the small room, covered from top to bottom in plants, both fresh and dried, whole and ground. The smell was somewhat pleasant, if one thought that the aroma of dirt and vegetation was pleasant.

"Well, you see, it's just a humble shop. I got real sick a few years ago, none of the medicine the doctors gave me helped, so I did some research." The man himself did not resemble someone either of the men thought would be running an herbal shop. Both had imagined some wanna-be hippie with dreadlocks and multiple facial piercings. What they found, instead, was a clean shaven young man wearing normal jeans and a nice button-down shirt covered in an apron to keep the dirt off when he worked with the plants. "Medicine is expensive. And the side effects are awful sometimes. I didn't go out wanting to open a shop. It just started with a friend of mine that had a bad cold. Helped him out, he told other people, they told more people. Eventually, it just kinda happened, if ya follow me." Robert flashed them a straight toothed smile.

John, who had been nodding along in awe, cleared his throat. "Right, so, this friend you helped out..."

"Curtis. Been a good mate of mine for a long time. Goin' back to primary school. I hadn't seen much of him recently, though. After the divorce, poor bloke. He just seemed off."

"And the last time you saw Curtis?" John pushed.

Robert scratched his chin with a thumb, "Er, couldn't have been more than two weeks ago, I think. Came in askin' for some things. Said he hadn't been feelin' right. Gave him what he asked for and haven't seen him since."

"Do you sell mandrake root, Mr. McLaren?" Sherlock interjected.

"Mandrake? Yeah, I grow some of my own. Not many people ask about it, though, seein' as it's poisonous. Only if you use too much, mind. I've used it, myself. Worked wonders. But, yeah, I got some. Are you needing some, Mr. Holmes?"

"Me?" He feigned appreciation, "No, thank you. However, a colleague of mine might be interested in it. How would one go about preparing such an herb?" John watched his friend with interest. What was he up to?

"Well, you don't want to use too much, mind. Only half a teaspoon maybe, less even. Fresh is better, but it's less easy to overdose on the dried stuff. I make teabags of the stuff, mixed with a little bit of spearmint or licorice. Mandrake's real bitter, so having something else with it helps cut the flavor. Anyway, make a cuppa, drink it maybe...once a week at most. Most people feel better after two or three cups."

"So, you wouldn't recommend ingesting it any more than once a week?" John asked, taking notes.

"Nah. Too much of the stuff's deadly. Course, some people have a higher tolerance, but still. I don't want something like the idea that my herbs might have caused someone's death on my conscience. I couldn't live with myself if something like that happened."

Sherlock stared at the man for a moment, blue eyes boring into his as if to analyze his soul. Whatever the detective might have seen, he was satisfied. "Very well, Mr. McLaren. Thank you for your time today. We'll be in touch. And, if you see your friend any time soon, give us a call." He handed the shop-owner a card.

"Of course, Mr. Holmes. And if your friend is still interested in some herbs, you send them my way. I'll see what I can dig up to help."

John waved to the younger man and made his way out the door. Sherlock made to follow, then stopped. He made sure the soldier was already outside before he turned back to Robert. "Erm, actually, you wouldn't happen to carry lilies, would you?" Robert's face lit up.

)0(

A few hours later, Diane stood before a somewhat decrepit building in one of the lower income areas of London. A large, old warehouse-looking apartment complex that seemed to have been long forgotten by the majority of the populace. John had sent her a rather long text some time ago, telling her what they had found out from the herbal shop. He didn't think Robert had anything to do with it, and he didn't think Sherlock did either. So, her gut was right. If the world's smartest detective and the best judge of character she had ever met felt the same way about him, then she had to be right. A short time after that, she had received a message asking her to meet at this address. This was where Curtis Boris lived. If anyone had information about Robert McLaren, his best friend did. If Mycroft Holmes didn't want to listen to her gut, then she would do it herself. Something was off about the whole situation. Robert's entire record, from birth to current, was clean. The same could not be said, however, for Curtis. Sherlock wanted to say that she was making eyes at the man who had come by their flat supposedly looking for help? Fine. Let him. She couldn't make him believe something he didn't want to. The whole time she had spent in the presence of Curtis had given her the willies. The shakes she had seen in his hands seemed too forceful, and his words carefully planned. At least to her. Whether anyone else had noticed it, she couldn't tell. Either way, she needed to talk to him and she'd be damned if she waited for the great _Sherlock Holmes_ to do so.

Diane finally steeled herself and raised a fist to knock. It sounded as if she had knocked on an empty metal barrel. The sound echoed through the space behind the door. She waited. And waited. Then knocked again and waited some more. There was no answer. Diane reached for the handle, only to find that the door was locked and would not budge for anything.

Suddenly, there was a noise deep in the belly of the building. The woman stood back from the door for half a moment, then put her ear to the door to see if she could hear anything else. She strained but heard nothing. With a huff, Diane decided to go around back. Something was going on, and her guts were churning. If someone was hurt, she had to do what she could to help. The back door was locked just a tightly. There was no one around that she could see, though maybe they were in the other buildings. Cupping her hands, she looked through the window that looked into the kitchen and saw nothing.

"Hello?" She called through the glass. There was no answer.

Another noise startled her, pulling her away from the window. When it came again, her gaze was drawn to a small box-shaped thing on the ground against the wall, almost hidden by an old ragged bush. Jumping down from the small porch, Diane knelt beside it and moved the thin branches out of the way. It wasn't a box at all, but a seemed to be a basement entry. A small padlock held it shut from the outside. Looking around once more to make sure there was no one around, she pulled a simple lock pick set from her bag. Why did a secretary have a lock pick set? Because there was a time, long ago, that she decided she needed to be prepared for anything at any time. That included learning how to pick locks.

A light click signaled that it was now unlocked. It took a bit of finagling to get it unlatched and removed from the handles, as it was old and rusted from the incessant rain of London. But, once she did, the doors opened easily, if with a loud squeak that told of a much-needed oiling. Diane smiled to herself a little in pride of remembering an old talent, then settled back into a mask of concentration as she lowered herself through the small opening. Once her feet touched the floor, the secretary pulled a flashlight from her bag and shown it around the basement. So far there was nothing. Just boxes and dust. Moving farther in, careful not to bump into anything, Diane turned the corner.

Here, she didn't need her light.

Because there was about a dozen plant lights hanging from the low ceiling, swaying slowly in the breeze created by several fans around the room. She continued on, stopping only when she was close enough see the plants in various stages of growth, close enough to examine the leaves. It didn't take her very long to realize what they were. Diane pulled out her phone and pulled up her boss's text line and began typing.

The lights went out.

)0(

John had literally just finished paying the cabbie when they got back to Baker Street when his phone started ringing. He sighed heavily when he read the caller ID. "It's your brother."

"Ignore it." Sherlock told him tersely as he pushed the front door open.

"Might be important," he reminded him.

"Or he might just be bothering us about the case. Ignore it." The taller man smiled to himself a bit when he saw that the coffee he made earlier that morning had been drank. A quick glance around the living room showed that his flat-mate was not sitting around doing any work. Ducking his head back out the threshold, he noticed that her bedroom door was open. That was odd. She never left it open, whether she was in there or not. His phone started ringing. The caller ID read _Cake Man_ , his not so nice screen name for his brother. The device went back into his coat pocket. "Where do you suppose she's run off to this time?"

"Who?" John finally managed to reach him at the landing. He followed his friend's eyes up the stairs. "Diane? Dunno. Maybe to work?"

"She's off today. Even if she wasn't, it's after 5:30," he mentioned, glancing at his watch. "Usually she's home long before now."

The sandy haired man furrowed his eyebrows. "Yeah, so? Maybe she got held up. Or maybe her and Mary went out for dinner or something."

"Mary would have texted you to tell you she'd be out. Either that, or Diane would have to tell _you_ that she wouldn't be back until later. She's a creature of habit, all people are. She does things a certain way all the time."

"Why is this bothering you so much?" John chuckled at the other man. "Seriously," he moved into the living room to start up a fire and sit down, "I'm sure she's fine. She was really mad at you yesterday. She probably just doesn't feel like being in the flat. Lord knows I've felt like that plenty of times."

"Yes, and every time you didn't feel like being in the flat, something bad happened." Sherlock had taken up his usual post at the window.

John started laughing. "I though you didn't believe in coincidences."

The sleuth turned to glare at his friend. "I don't. Nothing in the universe is random. The fact that something bad always happens when one of us isn't in the flat is hardly coincidence. It's just a testament to how badly some people want to bring us down."

"Or to how much you piss people off." The only response he got was a disinterested _hmm_.

Suddenly, pounding sounded at the front door. The two looked at each other curiously as they listened to Mrs. Hudson rush to the door, tittering about all the noise. They heard her try to greet whoever it was, but they seemed to push past her. Feet slammed up the stairs. They were both surprised to see Mycroft, red-faced and panting appear at the landing.

Before either of them could ask, he bit out, "Why do neither of you _ever_ answer your phones when it's something important."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "What could _possibly_ be so important that you-"

"Diane!" The elder Holmes brother yelled. Mrs. Hudson, who had been right behind him, threw her hands to her mouth. The other two stood shock still, waiting for him to catch his breath. "She received a message this morning from your client, Mr. Boris, asking to meet him at his home. She went, by herself, to a place on the outskirts of town."

"And you let her?" John asked.

"I did no such thing, Dr. Watson. Contrary to popular belief, I do not _always_ know what everyone does at all times. I was not informed that she was planning on going anywhere other than this building today, until I received this." He passed his younger brother his phone, who held it so that John could read over his shoulder.

 _I think I know who our poisoner is, Mr. Holmes._ Underneath the message was a picture of dozens of plants in various stages of growth.

John squinted, moving closer to examine the picture. "Is that-"

"Mandrake plants, yes." Mycroft answered. "Mr. McLaren had nothing to do with the crime other than providing a few healthy plants to his friend. Diane tried to tell me yesterday that she did not think he was guilty, as his records were as clean as could be. It seems she's been doing a lot of research outside of her normal workload. She had been digging as deep as possible on one Curtis Boris."

"What did she find?" Sherlock tore his eyes away from the screen.

"I was hoping you could answer that. I can't get ahold of her, and her phone is not on or responding to our tracking systems. None of the information was on her computer at work, and her laptop has the best security the government has to offer. We couldn't get into it without having it physically in our-" the younger Holmes took off up the stairs, "possession." Mycroft finished. Turning back to John, who still had his phone, he said, "Dr. Watson, I do not normally express such sentimentality, but you must know, in the short time Diane had worked for me, I have become somewhat...fond of her." The soldier's eyebrows shot to his hairline. "No, not like that. Believe me, I know the feelings my brother has tried so very hard to hide from everyone, me especially. No, when I say that, I mean...I feel very much like she is almost a daughter to me. As I have nothing like that, I cannot be for certain, but she does hold a special place in the black hole that is my heart. If anything were to happen to her, I think I would find myself very upset."

John only had time to nod before Sherlock ran back in with Diane's sleek silver laptop. He placed it down and opened it. The background on the screen showed her and her brothers, as they laid out on a green grassy lawn, smiling into the evening sun. The password box appeared, curser blinking. "What's her password?"

"Brother mine, if I knew that, we could have gotten into her computer from the office."

With an exasperated huff, he groused, "Then what good are you?"

"Sherlock," John warned. "Just get into the computer. You can hack into mine in less than five minutes, then get into hers."

"I'm afraid it's not that easy, Dr. Watson. Diane's computer is specially programmed that if anyone were to put in the wrong password more than three times, the entire system would wipe itself and the computer would be completely useless. It's a defense program designed to keep information from falling into the wrong hands. So, tread lightly, brother. Do not enter anything unless you are absolutely sure."

With that in mind, Sherlock delved into his mind palace, finding his room dedicated to Diane. Everyone he was closely involved with had a room to themselves. Diane's happened to be a lovely library with a roaring fire. But, the bookcases were not even half full yet, indicating that he expected her to be around a lot longer. And if he didn't get into this computer, there was a chance all those empty shelves would never be filled. Franticly, he started pulling the imaginary books off the shelves. His genius mind went a million miles an hour. But, with every passing second, every book tossed aside, every picture yanked off the walls and examined, he got more and more frustrated. There were too many things the password could be.

 _Rosalie?_ No, she hates her middle name, she would never use that.

 _Bassy?_ Mm... maybe. File that away for later.

 _John_

 _Mary_

 _...Sherlock?_

No, none of those. Diane didn't strike him as the kind of person to change her password just because she made friends. No, it was something she held near and dear to her heart, something that only she would get, something that she would never share with someone she wasn't friends with. Something that no one would know outside of herself and the closest of friends.

His eyes popped open. Right under the password box, there was a little question mark. The hint box. Slowly, he moved the mouse to click it.

 _ **Darron, Marcus, Vincent.**_

"How the hell does that help us?" John asked.

Mycroft scoffed. "Obviously a decoy. She's smart. She knows that family members and birthdays are always the first things tried by potential hackers."

Sherlock studied the picture in the background. "No." He whispered. "She is smart, but she also loves her family." Placing his long fingers over the keys, he typed.

 _ **D.M.V.**_

 _Enter_.

With a light ding, the lock screen gave way to her desktop, and another picture, this time of her whole family.

John gave a light laugh. "Her family's inside joke. Brilliant." He leaned over his friend's shoulder to look over what he was clicking on. Up popped a file, a rather large one, labeled with their 'client's' name. They read through it as quickly as they could, taking notes when something important came up. Eventually, Lestrade was called in as well. While John explained the situation, Sherlock paced the living room, every bit of information running through his head.

"Don't worry, gents. We've got his address, we know where she went." Lestrade assured them. "We'll find them both, get her back safely. That I can promise you."

Mycroft came to stand beside his brother, while his men went through the laptop to find everything they could about Curtis Boris. "Even if your mostly incompetent Scotland Yard does muck things up quite a bit, there's no accounting for heart. I've got my best men on the case."

"Not yet, you don't." Sherlock said, grabbing his Belstaff coat and his blogger and left the building. "Boris won't risk staying in the same place, not with a hostage."

"We don't even know if he's taken her." John tried to reason, "What if she's just turned her phone off to have some time away from the two of you. It wouldn't be the first time someone's done it for some peace and quiet."

"Diane knows better than to turn her phone off. She might not respond to anyone, but she wouldn't turn it off. She works for a government official who might need her at any point in time. She's also friends with three of possibly the most protective men on the planet. No, she's been taken. He's turned her phone off, probably taken out the sim card and dumped the pieces. We have to get to that apartment building and see what clues we can find."


End file.
